Family Life
by GarvinMark
Summary: Just a series of one-shots detailing the family life of Rapunzel, Eugene, and their kids as introduced in 'This is the Story'.
1. Pancakemix battle

**Author Note**: Just wanted to write out this short detailing a cooking lesson gone sour :) or sweet :D hopefully I can add more one-shots about the kids and their parents and grandparents and Corona itself :D Suggestion-read at least the first chapter of 'This is the Story' if you want to understand who the kids are in terms of age and personality. Hope you enjoy it! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Anyway, the next thing Chef Arnold said about your pancake mix is that it has to be smooth and avoid lumps."

"Lumps." Thomas repeated, smirking slightly.

His father, resplendent in a flowered apron, looked down at his son, "Lumps?"

"It's a funny word."

Eugene grinned, "That is kind-of funny."

Rapunzel elbowed him in the ribs, hissing, "Dear, our daughter is trying to speak to you. Pay attention."

"As I was _saying_," Annabelle continued, "you want to keep the batter nice and smooth."

"And avoid lo-umps." Eugene said, earning a grin from his son.

Annabelle glared at them, and both sheepishly returned to stirring their bowls.

The royal family had decided, since the cooking staff had the day off, to use the kitchens as a way to spend time together. Well, technically, it had been Rapunzel's idea, and her daughters were only too eager to go along with it. Eugene and Thomas, however, were slightly less eager. One could even say that they groaned a good deal before Rapunzel told them they could eat the pancakes afterwards.

Ginger, however, had grown bored listening to her sister talking about batter. Instead, she had resorted to making faces out of the chocolate chips lined up on the countertop. She had already finished doing one of Hook-hand by the time the rest of her family had reached the mixing stage of the recipe.

Then suddenly, she had an idea. Quite an ingenious idea for a five year-old.

"Annie?" She asked, sidling over to the bowl of batter her mother was patiently stirring.

Her sister looked at her, "Yes?"

"Do you need all this stuff to make pancakes?"

Annabelle frowned, glancing at her mother, "Um… well, yes. I guess. Why?"

"Oh—I just had an idea." Ginger said, casually sticking her hand into the batter.

"Ginger, don't do that. You'll make a mess." Rapunzel said calmly.

Then, about half a second later, Thomas gave a yelp as he was knocked off his stool. Eugene quickly knelt down next to his son, "Thomas?"

The boy moaned, "Ow… something hit me." He felt his forehead, "Ugh—it's sticky…" his eyes brightened, "Dad am I bleeding?"

"No it's—_pancake_ _batter_?" Eugene muttered, confused.

Thomas leapt to his feet, "Gin'! You're gonna pay for that!"

"No—Thomas! NO!" His father restrained him, grunting, "You cannot hit your sister. Imagine what will-."

'SPLAT!'

Eugene felt something wet and sticky trickling down his neck. He was also certain that his hair—his beautiful brown hair—had just been introduced to a new type of shampoo. He turned his head slowly to look at his wife, Thomas still in his arms.

Rapunzel smiled, holding up a batter-smeared hand.

"You know," he said as batter steadily dripped onto the tile, "this means war."

"I'm ready when you are."

"Split up the teams evenly?" Eugene suggested.

"Boys against girls!" Thomas shouted, grinning madly.

Eugene's eyes widened, "What? No—you don't know how good your mother's aim is!"

Abruptly, he had to duck as more batter came flying out of nowhere.

"Thomas, grab that bowl!" Eugene bellowed as he dodged another pancake missile. He raced to the other end of the kitchen, overturned a small table, and jumped behind it. Then he heard a strange yelling noise and looked out from behind his barricade to see his son, clutching the bowl of batter, hurtling towards him as dough whistled past his ears. The boy made it safely to the stronghold, panting as he crouched down next to his father.

"Good job, Thomas."

"Thanks, Dad."

Meanwhile, on the other end of the room, Rapunzel and her youngest had managed to create a small fort out of a wide table and two chairs. The princess called to Annabelle, "Come on, Annabelle! You're in no-man's land!"

The girl looked at her completely ruined cooking lesson. Batter was already dribbling steadily off the counter and half the stools were knocked over. She sighed and grabbed one of the remaining bowls of batter, muttering, "This is a waste of good pancakes!"

"Maybe, but," Rapunzel pulled her daughter out of range as a single shot nearly struck her in the shoulder, "we can't afford to worry about pancakes right now."

"Why is it, that whenever you and Dad get into the kitchen, you _always_ end up having a food-fight?"

"Let's just say I've never forgiven him for beating me in our first snowball fight. I mean—it _was_ the first time I saw snow before so I don't really think he was being fair."

"I was being plenty fair!" Eugene hollered from across the kitchen.

Rapunzel retorted back, "No you weren't! You attacked me when my back was turned!"

"And you shoved snow down my shirt! Half of which was ice!"

She smiled slightly, admitting to her daughter, "I did. But it was _so_ funny. He squealed like a little girl."

"I did no such thing!"

She ignored this comment, and instead grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it onto the floor. Rapunzel quickly scrawled out a near-identical copy of the kitchen and began to explain the battle plan.

At the other end of the room, Thomas glanced up at his father, "Did you really squeal like a girl?"

"No way. If I made any sound it was more of a manly grunt of surprise."

His son still looked doubtful. Just then, there were some fairly noisy thuds on the other side of their overturned table. Apparently, the warning shots were being fired.

Eugene dipped his hand into the bowl and began to pack together a batter ball. He told his son instructions as he did so, even as Thomas pulled out his slingshot and made tiny dough missiles.

"Way to think creatively, son." His father complimented, smiling. "Now, our goals are to not get hit and to not forfeit."

"What does forfeit mean?"

"Surrender—which we will never do."

"Right Dad." Thomas grinned, testing his slingshot.

Eugene nodded, "Okay, now I know the enemy is our family. I know that you love your sisters and your mother very much. But we can't give in—no matter how cute they may be."

"I don't think any of them are cute." His son replied, rolling his eyes.

"Oh—right. Well, just keep _me_ from being distracted by your mother's gorgeous green eyes or her freckled nose or the way she seems to-."

"Dad, you're getting distracted."

"Right."

"Boys," Rapunzel called across the floor, "are you ready for the first skirmish?"

Eugene popped his head out from behind the table, yelling, "Bring it on, vile temptress!"

"_WHAT_ did you just call me?"

"Um… fire away Thomas! Quick, before I say something really stupid!"

"You got that right!" His wife shouted, loading up her hand with a batter ball.

Annabelle looked at her sister, "Oh yeah. Dad's going to pay for that one."

Ginger grinned and rose up on her feet, sending a dough-ball pelting towards the opposite camp. There was a faintly injured whimper, and then Eugene called, "Honey, there's no need to throw so hard!"

"That was Ginger, dearest!"

Eugene looked at his son, "Apparently," he said, mopping batter from his shoulder, "Ginger-snap's inherited your mother's throwing arm."

"What did I get?"

Eugene stared at his son, suddenly at a lost for words. Finally, he said, "You got my awesome physique and my indomitable spirit to never, ever surrender!"

"All right!" He did not know what indomitable meant, but he liked the sound of it.

More batter struck their barricade, and one particularly sloppy missile sailed overhead and hit the wall. Eugene looked up at it, "Ah, and Annie's helping too."

"Eugene Fitzherbert!" Rapunzel shrieked. "Stand up and fight like a man!"

Thomas said quietly, "Mom's talking to you, Dad."

"I know she is. Her voice carries. Okay, Thomas. Let's get out there."

Then, yelling, the two seized their missiles and darted out from behind the table. Immediately Thomas received a firm blow to his stomach, but he responded with a fairly accurate ejection from his slingshot. A scream of shock told him he had done his job. His father, meanwhile, had managed to bean Rapunzel at least twice before a painful slap of dough to his leg made him drop to his knees. Clearly, Annabelle was not as bad as an aim as he had thought she was.

Rapunzel congratulated her daughter with a high-five, "Great shot, Annie."

"No problem, Mom." Annabelle grinned, batter plopping out of her hair.

Ginger reared back and sent another batter ball flying, howling in delight when she hit her brother. "Haha! Take that!"

Thomas yelled in revenge, pulling back his slingshot and shooting a missile at Ginger. She barely dodged it, giving Eugene just enough time to leap back up and chuck a ball towards them. Instead of striking the enemy, however, the prince consort knocked an open bag of flour off the counter. A deluge of powder turned Rapunzel and her daughters white. She coughed and wiped the flour from her eyes.

"That was a cruel trick, Rider!" Rapunzel cried, grabbing up another handful of batter.

Eugene smirked smugly, "Thank you, my love!"

Suddenly, something wet splattered against his flowered apron, and Eugene fell to the floor. Thomas grabbed at his father's hand, ducking another missile.

"Hurry, Dad—we've got to get cover!"

Eugene sprang to his feet, slipping on the batter-strewn floor as he and his son raced back to their barricade. They huddled underneath the protection of the table, wincing as blow after blow slammed against it.

"I don' know how long this thing will hold." Eugene muttered, even as another missile thunked against their table.

His son groaned, "But we _can't_ let them win, Dad!"

"Absolutely not. I'll never hear the end of it if they do. Reload, Thomas—we'll show the enemy who's stronger!"

Thus, it was that batter began to fly everywhere. It slapped against the walls, it ricocheted off the pots hanging from the ceiling, and it skidded along the floor. Dough ball after dough ball took flight as the fight went on, hitting various objects and sometimes even the person aimed for. Shouts echoed off the tile, and grunts of pained surprise accompanied them. Both teams were putting up a terrific onslaught of missiles, hammering each other along with some of Chef Arnold's most prized cooking instruments.

Overall, the battle was going along splendidly.

But then Eugene realized something. They were running out of batter.

"Thomas," he said, even as his son let another batter ball fly, "we've got a problem."

"What's that, Dad?"

"We're running out." He indicated the dangerously low bowl at his feet.

"What are we going to do?"

Eugene sighed, "I'm afraid there's only one thing we can do."

He and his son peeked out over the top of their table, spotting the remaining bowl sitting upon the counter. There was a victorious crow and Ginger sent a spiraling dough ball towards them. Eugene pulled his son down just in time as the missile sailed over their heads.

"You don't mean-." Thomas asked, gaping at him.

"Yes, we have to go out there. Together."

"But what if we get hit?"

"That's a chance we'll have to take. But seriously," he gestured at himself and his son, "we're covered in the stuff already."

"True."

"Okay," Eugene said, handing his son a pot lid, "here's your shield."

"Shield." Thomas said, grasping the handle.

"And here's your helmet." Eugene set the pot belonging to the lid onto his son's head.

"What about your helmet?"

"Don't need one." Eugene tapped his forehead, "Head's hard as a rock."

"It's true!" Rapunzel shouted from the other end of the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you dear!" Eugene called back, half-annoyed, half-amused.

Thomas nodded, nearly jumping up and down in anticipation, "So, when are we going out there?"

"I'll give the signal, and then we run. Remember, duck and weave and avoid your mother and Ginger at all costs."

"What's the signal?"

Eugene thought for a moment, and then he grinned, "Lo-umps."

His son laughed, waving his slingshot in the air, "Lo-umps!"

They both charged out into no-man's land again. Eugene grabbed a nearby frying pan—not the one he was familiar with—and used it to deflect the batter coming towards him.

"Use their own missiles against them, Thomas!" Eugene barked, striking a strong blow back to what he thought was his wife.

"Ouch! Dad!"

"Sorry, Annie!"

Thomas kept his sights on the bowl, and then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Ginger was racing towards his goal.

"No you don't!" He howled, speeding faster. "Stay away from that bowl, Gin'!"

His sister screeched at him, slipping as they both tried to reach the remaining batter. Both scrambled up onto the countertop as dough continued to soar from all directions. They grabbed the bowl at the same time and began to tug, sloshing batter all over the sides and onto the already incredibly messy floor.

"It's ours!" Thomas growled, leaning backwards.

Ginger's eyes narrowed, and she snapped, "No! It's _ours_!"

"Don't let her get it, Thomas!" Eugene roared, scooping up some of the dropped batter and throwing it over the enemy's ramparts.

"Got it, Dad!" His son replied, successfully wrenching the bowl from his sister's grasp. Ginger, unbalanced, began to fall off the counter. Eugene's eyes widened, and he tossed aside the frying pan, launching himself forward to catch his daughter. He caught her just in time, sliding across the floor on his stomach. Ginger looked at her father in surprise.

"Thanks, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Ginger-snap." He stood up, gently setting his daughter onto her feet. Then, before he knew it, everything went dark as batter nailed him straight in the face.

* * *

Eugene woke up to sticky hands tenderly stroking his equally sticky face. He opened one eye, since his other one refused to open, and saw that his wife was leaning over him.

"Ow…" he mumbled as his eye throbbed painfully.

"Are you okay?" Rapunzel whispered.

"Nope. Um—I can't really see that much."

"That's because your right eye is swollen shut."

"Ah." He gazed up at her flour-streaked face and hair sticking up in all directions like a porcupine. She still looked completely attractive, which, while pleasing, did not help much.

"You know, ever since I met you, I've been knocked unconscious a lot more than usual." Eugene muttered, easing himself up into a sitting position.

Rapunzel nodded, grimacing, "I know."

Her husband glanced around at the battered kitchen. His children were sitting next to his wife, each one looking a little worse for the wear. Ginger was completely covered in pancake mix, having spent a good bit of the battle diving into the bowl of ammo. Annabelle had more flour on her than anything else, but she still bore some batter on her shoulder. Thomas, his partner in crime, had batter all over his front while his hair was gelled towards the right.

Other than the damage to the kitchen, and his burning eye, no one else seemed to have gotten hurt.

"We surrendered, Dad." Thomas said sadly.

"That's okay, Thomas. We gave it our best shot."

Rapunzel smiled, "You guys did a wonderful job."

"Thanks." Eugene muttered dryly.

Annabelle looked up as batter dripped slowly down from the ceiling, "Mom, we should probably clean up."

Her mother nodded and got to her feet, "All right, girls, we can wipe down the counters. Thomas, you gather up the dishes and wash them. Your father will take care of mopping the floor."

"I can hardly see." Eugene protested, standing up to lean against the counter.

"We'll get you some ice." Rapunzel replied as she and all her children went to work.

Her husband watched them, amazed that at one word from his wife, his daughters and son immediately obeyed. How on earth did she have such command over them and he did not? He had to ask her about that some time.

Groaning, Eugene felt his sore eye and muttered, "Do you know what's going to happen tomorrow at the trade meeting?"

"What, dear?" Rapunzel asked, sweeping a wet rag over the counter.

"Harold of Orae will see that I have a black eye. Since my normally stunning visage is devoid of a black eye, he will ask me where I got it. Do you know what I'll have to tell him?"

"What's that, Eugene?"

"I'll have to tell him that my wife hit me in the face with pancake batter. I don't even know how that batter got so hard."

Annabelle shrugged and proceeded to scrub down a table, murmuring, "Well, Dad, Chef Arnold did warn on the recipe that leaving it out for too long makes the batter turn to cement."

"Thanks, Annie. That's really helpful _now_."

"So what will Harold do, Eugene?" His wife asked as she switched places with Ginger.

Eugene sighed dramatically, "He'll laugh at me—all throughout the trade meeting. And then your father will laugh at me, and then every other pompous noble will laugh at me."

"Is my father a pompous noble?"

"No. But he _will_ laugh at me."

"I'll take care of you, even through all your humiliation. And I promise I won't laugh."

Eugene glanced at his son, who was toting an armful of dishes to the sink, and said, "This is one of the perks to being married, Thomas. Your wife takes care of you after she hurts you."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "Oh come on, Eugene. Don't be such a baby. Help us clean up."

"What about my ice?"

"I'll get it for you later, dear."

Eugene grunted and retrieved the mop and bucket from a nearby corner. After filling the bucket with soapy water, he started to run the tool across the tile, leaving shining wet stripes where a moment before had been nothing but flour and batter. It would take a long time before the entire kitchen was cleaned to his wife's satisfaction. By the end of the morning, he knew that the pancake mix in his hair and goatee would have hardened, making it impossible to remove short of cutting it out. He sighed. That trade meeting will be murder to sit through.

Eventually, after much sweeping and wiping and rinsing, an hour or so later the kitchens were clean. Rapunzel had sent their children up with the nursemaids to take baths. She and her husband remained in the kitchen, making sure that everything was put back in the right place.

Eugene sat on one of the stools, untying the stained apron from his waist. Rapunzel handed him ice wrapped up in a rag, "Sorry about your eye, dear."

"It's okay." He pressed the ice to his face, smirking somewhat as his wife tallied up the inventory sitting on the counter in front of them.

"You do realize we'll have to tell Chef Armando-."

"Arnold."

"-everything that happened today, don't you?"

"Yes, Eugene. But," she smiled in satisfaction, "at least the girls won."

He frowned, "Only because you pegged me in the eye."

"I thought you said it was okay." Rapunzel glared at him.

Eugene nodded hastily, "It is—and I'm not blaming you for it. But I think it would be more fair to consider this a draw rather than a complete conquest."

His wife walked over to him, frowning, "And why, when you surrendered, should I consider this a draw?"

"Fine, you don't have to consider it a draw. But do I at least get a consolation reward?"

She smiled, "And what's that?"

"A kiss from my wife whom I love and adore and who looks remarkably beautiful despite being covered in pancake batter." He grinned at her winsomely, wiggling his eyebrows.

His wife shrugged, "I suppose you deserve some kind of reward."

"I think I do."

Rapunzel smiled and sat down on his lap, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. Then, slowly, she felt something wet and extremely cold slide down her back as Eugene dropped several pieces of ice down her dress.

"_Eugene_!" She cried, jumping up and shivering.

Her husband laughed, grinning as he declared, "Revenge is sweet."


	2. First realization

**Author Note**: I've had this idea for a while and I wondered how Eugene and Rapunzel would react upon realizing they were going to have their first child. :D I plan on going further than this, but I hope you enjoy what I've done so far! :D Thanks for all the reviews and for reading, you guys are awesome! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Eugene gazed into his hand, listening as the fire in the fireplace crackled noisily. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate solely on that for a while—just breathing. Maybe if he focused on one thing at a time he would be able to think about… oh no… no, here it came again.

"How could this possibly have happened?" Eugene asked aloud, not knowing that the king had just entered the room.

The monarch looked at his son-in-law and took a sip of his coffee. It was three o'clock in the morning, and Eugene had woken the queen up to ask her a very important question. Considering that Catherine had immediately gone to his daughter and his son-in-law's bedroom, and the fact that Eugene was looking like a man who had forgotten to think, he quickly guessed the situation.

"I recognize _that_ look." The king said, smiling as Eugene peered at him from between his trembling fingers.

Eugene shook his head, rubbing his face as he muttered weakly, "How is this possible? We've only been married for five months… it was supposed to be years before anything like this happened."

His father-in-law shrugged, "Well, sometimes plans don't turn out the way you think they should. Anyways, fatherhood is nothing to be afraid about."

"Fatherhood." Eugene repeated, his eyes widening. "I'm going to be a father—a dad. I'm going to have a kid… how is this possible? What on earth can I do? I don't know how to be a father—I don't know anything. I can't even remember my own name!"

"Eugene!" The king barked at him, breaking through his hysteria. "Calm down. Drink some coffee."

"Coffee—yes… coffee." Eugene picked up a cup and shakily poured coffee into it, as well as all over the hand holding the mug handle. The liquid must have been burning hot, but apparently Eugene did not feel it scorching his skin because he downed the cup in one gulp and began to pour more.

The king raised an eyebrow in concern, "Eugene—are you quite sure you should be drinking that much?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Eugene asked, downing another cup and immediately pouring another one. "I mean, it's not like coffee is bad for you, right? And the more coffee-," he drank and poured another cup, "-the more I have something to do other than think about-," he poured yet another cup, "-the fact that I'm going to be a d-da…" Eugene dropped his mug and sank to his knees, clutching his head.

"I'm going to be a dad… a father… a—a—a…."

"Very troubled young man." The king said, watching as his son-in-law continued to have a panic attack on the floor.

Eugene's shoulders shook, and he muttered, each word coming out faster than the one before it, "I have a kid—I'm going to have a kid—Rapunzel's pregnant! She's pregnant with my kid and it's my fault and I have no clue what to do and how on _earth_ am I going to explain this to her father and I just can't—I—I…" He gave a feeble groan and curled up on the rug.

The king sighed and rose to his feet to help the man up. Gently shoving him back into the chair, Eugene's father-in-law set his hands on the man's shoulders.

"Eugene."

His face turned pale, and he stammered, "Honest, sir I had no clue this was going to happen and I'll do anything you ask just please don't-."

"Eugene!"

"What?"

"Calm. Down."

He took a deep breath, squeaking, "How?"

"Think about—think about Rapunzel's crown. Give me the exact details."

Immediately Eugene said, "Gold. Full of diamonds and jewels and pretty shiny rocks."

"More details, Rider."

"Exactly seven rubies, four sapphire diamonds, three white diamonds, and several other diamonds too many to count. Weighs about ten ounces, is rather light for a crown, and only twenty carat gold." He looked up at the king.

"Better?" The man asked, grinning slightly.

Slowly, Eugene nodded.

"Good. Now are you ready to accept the fact that you are going to be a father?"

"No."

The king's smile broadened, "Very good. If you were I'd be beginning to worry."

Eugene leaned back in his chair, still trying to wrap his mind about this new phenomenon—as well as calculate how much his wife's crown would fetch at the little pawn shop in town. What can he say? Money made him relax—money was hard—money was something he could deal with but this… this was not.

"How-," he said slowly, "-how do I handle this?"

The king retook his chair and shrugged, "My suggestion is to not think about it too much. I mean, every morning you will wake up and remember it immediately. But don't worry about it. Just focus on keeping Rapunzel happy and yourself sane and hopefully in nine months you will be used to the idea."

"It only takes nine months?"

"Usually."

"I only have nine months?"

"Here we go again…"

"AHHH!"

* * *

Rapunzel looked up from where she was sitting on her bed. She thought she heard her husband screaming in the distance—but it could be the wind. Then her mother came in from the sitting chamber, bringing a tray of tea with her.

"I find that it helps the nerves." The queen said, smiling as she took a seat next to her daughter and handed her a cup of tea.

Rapunzel nodded, holding the tea and watching as her mother sipped delicately from her cup. She was nervous—that much was certain. And she was confused, and scared, and worried. But, at the same time, she was excited and happy and overwhelmed with joy. It was not as though she had never considered the possibility… it was just that she and Eugene had never really discussed _when_ they would have children. It had been one of those things that would happen one day when it was supposed to happen. But now… now it seemed that neither one of them had ever prepared for the idea. And it _had_ happened.

"Mom…" Rapunzel began slowly, turning to look at her mother, "I don't know if I can do this."

The queen nodded, replying quietly, "I know, dear."

"No—I _really_ don't know if I can do this. I can't—I can't be a mother—I didn't have a-," she took a deep breath, "-a _real_ mother before you. How am I supposed to act? How will I know what to do and say and be?"

Her mother sighed, answering bluntly, "Rapunzel, you won't know. And you will never know until you actually start. You've never had a child before—but you are made to have one."

"Made?" Rapunzel whispered, her eyes widening.

"Both physically and emotionally, dear. It's part of who you are and what you can be. And who and what you are, my girl, is the perfect mother for my grandchild." She reached out and soothingly brushed some of her daughter's hair from her eyes. "You are so full of love already, Rapunzel. Right now you don't need anything else."

"What about later?"

She smiled, "When later comes, you will be ready. Because then you will have your child and you will want to do nothing more than to be the best possible mother you can be."

"But I'm still… _afraid_. Happy—but so very afraid." The princess set her untouched tea back onto the tray and hugged her knees.

The queen nodded, replying calmly, "It is a scary, wonderful feeling. As soon as you knew that you were carrying a baby, you immediately experienced this intense love and fear for him. It's a maternal instinct."

"This feeling of extreme excitement and terror?"

"Why yes, darling. What else did you think it was?"

"Nausea."

Her mother laughed, a rich, beautiful sound that her daughter had never gotten tired of hearing. She set down her own cup and hugged Rapunzel, cradling her against herself and running a hand through the short-cropped hair. The queen squeezed her shoulders comfortingly, murmuring, "It probably _is_ part nausea—but most of it is maternal instincts."

Rapunzel nodded, but then a thought hit her as the wind—or her husband—continued to howl in the far distance.

"What about Eugene? He doesn't have maternal instincts."

"Relax, dear. He was made to be a father just as assuredly as you were made to be a mother. You will get used to the idea in time. He, on the other hand, might just take a little longer. But that happens to most men."


	3. A progression and an end

**Author Note**: Sorry for not posting-but I've been busy with school :D and for those of you who are worrying, I will get back to the uncles eventually-hopefully some time tomorrow. :D Anyway, I can just say right now I am very happy because I have an awesome God :D just wanted to let you know that :) I hope you guys enjoy this bit-it's fluffy-but lately I've been writing a bit of fluff so... yeah :D thanks for reading and for the reviews! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Are you absolutely certain you should be doing that?" Eugene asked, following after his wife as she paced around the room.

"Why on earth not? I've told you time and time again I'm determined to see this through, no matter what."

Eugene groaned and slapped his hand to his face.

It had been roughly four months since they had learned that Rapunzel was pregnant. The first few months had been nothing but a headache for Eugene and—in the case of his wife—a stomachache practically every morning. Now they were sliding into what the royal physician called the 'easier stage'. Rapunzel had begun to show, which allowed her to go shopping for more clothes, and she had mellowed some except for certain odd moments.

Like now, when she wanted to transform her husband's study into a play area for their child. She was going to have his study moved closer to the library, and then she was going to paint the walls and ceiling of his former study all by herself.

He had agreed to let her usurp his study without question. Following the king's advice, Eugene had tried his dead-set hardest to make his wife happy. He had gone shopping with her—for ten days straight as she spent time picking out a new wardrobe for her and the baby. He had rushed back and forth to the kitchens, asking Chef Arnold for the most bizarre dishes of food. He had even been willing to sit through some of those absurd birth-coaching classes—despite having been firmly told by his wife and his mother-in-law that he would not be allowed in the room when the time came. They said it was more for his safety than anybody else's, and he agreed.

But while he was willing to do all that and more, what he was not going to allow was his wife and her rapidly expanding waistline to balance on ladders and scaffolding while she painted.

He had suggested, "How about the court artists paint the room instead?"

"No." Rapunzel kept on painting.

"What about painting the room after the baby is here?"

She shook her head, running a solid stripe of yellow across the wall, and said, "No, Eugene. Then it will be too late."

Another time he tried, "I'll call up the pub thugs—Gunther does interior design—surely we could-?"

But the answer was still an unyielding, "Nope."

Finally, out of desperation, Eugene swallowed back his dignity and said, "_I_ will paint the room for you."

"Ha ha. No."

So it was with a heavy, worrying heart, that Eugene spent almost every waking hour in a room that reeked of paint. The first month of painting had not been that bad. At least his wife was still close to a normal size at that point. But now she was a swelling balloon, uncertain on her feet, often tired-out by the end of the day, and still plowing ahead with her ridiculous plan.

Eugene spent much of his time upon the floor, piling pillows around the scaffolding and holding each ladder in place as she climbed up them. Then he would hover, nervously watching as beautiful picture after beautiful picture would come from Rapunzel being hours up in the air. There was one moment however, when they had been discussing names, that Eugene had decided enough was enough.

"What about Jerry, if it's a boy, dear?" Rapunzel called down, putting the finishing touches on birds flying above the forest.

Eugene shook his head, "Not Jerry. I knew a Jerry once in the orphanage and he used to pull my nose. How about Dmitri?"

"Dmitri? Hmmm. That's a bit weird…" She added tiny flecks of white to depict sunlight reflecting on the birds' wings.

"Weirder than Frederick Gaspar? I remember that one—you favored that one for weeks."

"What if it's a girl then?"

"We could name her Catherine, after your mom." Her husband suggested.

"She said that if we had a girl we could name her Catherine, but only for the middle name. She absolutely denies use of it for first."

"Why would she do something like that?"

Rapunzel shrugged and leaned back on her knees to examine her handiwork, "She just said that our daughter—if we have a daughter—should have her own name."

"She _will_ have her own name—Catherine."

"_Eugene_." She sighed in exasperation, leaning over the side of the scaffolding to glare at her husband.

He grinned up at her, announcing, "You've got paint on your nose."

"Do you find it amusing?"

"I do."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes and set her painting palette and brush onto the scaffolding. Then she slowly began to make her way down the ladder. Eugene took hold of the ladder to keep it balanced, studying her movements watchfully.

"I just think that if we have a girl she should have a unique and beautiful name," his wife muttered, easing herself downward. "I mean, I've never met anyone else named Rapunzel and I—ah!" Her foot slipped, and Eugene immediately braced himself for impact. For the second time that week, he caught her in his arms. Unfortunately, his wife was heavier than he had anticipated, and it took every fiber in his body to keep his legs from buckling.

"Thanks, dear." Rapunzel gasped, gripping his shirt as her heartbeat slowed.

"That," Eugene said seriously, "is the last straw. Rapunzel, I know you want to finish this room and you are doing a marvelous job. But I'm not going to let you work up high any longer. You can paint the walls as much as you can from the floor—not an inch above."

She shook her head, "I have to paint the ceiling."

"_I _will paint the ceiling for you. I'll even go find that Michelangelo guy and get _him_ to paint the ceiling for you. But I don't want _you_ up there anymore."

Rapunzel stared at him defiantly, "You can't stop me."

"Yes, dear, I can." Eugene carefully set her back onto her feet, whispering, "Because I might not catch you the next time—and I'd rather die again than let that happen."

The firmness in his voice made her realize how worried he had been. She looked at him.

Her husband sighed and took her hand, murmuring, "If you won't do it for me, then do it for whatever kind of child we have. Please, Rapunzel."

She nodded, "All right, dear."

* * *

"What about Angelica?"

"No."

"Ruth?"

"No, Rapunzel."

She looked up from the royal family tree she was holding in her hands. Eugene lay, sprawled out on the couch, a book over his face. They were in his new study, surrounded by empty bookcases and boxes he had yet to unpack. A single candle flickered on the desk, and outside the windows, the night was dark and calm. It was also quite late.

Rapunzel glanced again at the chart, "How about Elizabeth?"

"You suggested that one already." Her husband mumbled. "I said no to that one too."

"Well, Eugene, we have to decide on at least one girl's name. We already picked Thomas out if the baby is a boy but we need to have a girl's name." She squinted at the paper in her hands, "Derma?"

"Derma? What's a Derma?"

"I'm not sure…" Rapunzel's eyes widened, and she tossed away the family tree. "Eugene—what about your family?"

There was a rather muffled sound of confusion underneath the book. Rapunzel smirked and leaned over to lift the volume off her husband's face.

"What about my family?" Eugene repeated uneasily, sitting up straighter.

She nodded, "Yes. Did you—did you know any of them?"

"Well, not really," he shrugged, rubbing his eyes. "To be perfectly honest, Rapunzel, I was only two when they died."

"So you don't know your parents' names?"

"No—I know them. Practically every kid in the orphanage asked about his parents. I was just one of the lucky ones who got answers. My dad's name was Eugene—so you have him to thank for your husband's goofy name."

Rapunzel smiled, "What about your mother?"

"Annabelle. Annabelle Fitzherbert."

"Hmmm. Annabelle..." He watched as she considered the name. After a moment, she looked up, "I like Annabelle. Why didn't you mention it before?"

Eugene gave a small frown, looking at his hands as he answered softly, "I thought that you'd want to name the baby after someone a little more regal. My mother wasn't..." he shook his head.

"I don't care about that, Eugene. I've never cared about that. Besides," she set her hand on his wrist and squeezed, "your mother must have been amazing because she had you for a son."

He smiled, "Thank you."

"So it's decided, then?"

"What?"

Rapunzel grinned, "Annabelle Catherine Fitzherbert?"

Eugene nodded, "Yeah. That's a good name for a little girl."

* * *

The months continued to pass, and eventually, _the_ month came. Eventually, _the_ week came. Finally, _the_ day came.

But then the day passed.

Eugene sighed, trying to read his papers by candlelight. He squinted at the cramped writing of Prince Harold of Orae, trying to understand what the buffoon was saying. All he got was sheep and lambs and something about fainting goats… but he could not focus. It was four-something in the morning, and his mind was elsewhere.

The prince consort sat back in his chair, glancing around his still box-filled study. It had been three days now, and Rapunzel was furious. He was furious. That of course, combined with the tension and the exhaustion and the absolute irritation, had made them both furious with each other. He could understand why his wife was upset. The poor girl was about to pop and yet—whatever little thing was inside her seemed to be refusing to come out. No doubt it was uncomfortable. What was he saying? He _knew_ it was uncomfortable. He had spent the past several weeks rubbing her back every night, trying to ease the stress and soreness. Not to mention the worry. What if—what if something bad had happened?

He shook his head, muttering to himself, "No. If something bad had happened we would know. The doctors would have told us. After all," he reasoned, "they did say they could have been wrong about the date."

Wearily, he got back to work. Rapunzel would probably be asleep by now—still angry with him. She hated it when he worked late, and he had been doing that a lot these days. There were trade agreements to be written up, meetings to attend, lists to memorize, and basically a section of the kingdom to run. Of course, he also used the time to think and ponder and wonder if he could really go through with what was coming.

For most of his life before he met Rapunzel, he had been free. A thief unshackled by any care except escaping justice and knowing what he was going to steal next. There had been nights when he could climb to the top of the highest nobleman's house and sleep out under the stars. There had been times when all he had around him was the silence and whatever new treasure he had stolen. It had been fun, adventurous, full of excitement.

But now he had problems. He had deadlines to meet, taxes to count up, lives to take care of—even if they were not around yet. For the first time since he had married the girl, Eugene began to miss the hours he had spent as Flynn Rider. The thief had no one to care about or for and certainly had nothing as time-consuming as royal work. He just had himself, and that had been all he had needed or wanted or cared about.

Things change, though.

With a groan, Eugene dipped his quill into the ink well and began to write a reply back to Harold's letter. There was a knock at his door, and he called, "Come in, Richard."

He did not look up as feet shuffled into the room. There was a pause before he heard, "Um, sir?"

"Yes? Did you bring more letters?"

"Um, no, actually. Um… your wife has just gone into labor."

Eugene dropped his quill, his head snapping up so fast his neck cracked.

"What?"

"The princess is currently experiencing what some might call the joy of birth." Richard smirked, "Though from the yelling I highly doubt it's very joyful."

"Where is she?" Eugene asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Your bed-." Richard had to dive out of the way as the prince consort hurtled past him into the dark hallway.

Eugene skidded on the smooth marble floor of the entrance hall, his eyes wide and his heart thudding in his chest. He tripped on a rug, fell flat on his face, and immediately jumped up and kept running. His brain was just a blank buzz—It was his body doing the actual work. He raced up the next flight of stairs and burst out into a corridor. Then he stopped and walked the next few feet, staring at the king.

The man smiled at him and nodded, muttering, "She's just been in for a few minutes. I don't know how long it will take, but so far, she's all right."

"Does she—does she need anything?" Eugene panted, gazing at his father-in-law.

"If she does, I'm sure we can take care of it."

"How long does it take?"

The king shrugged calmly, replying, "Minutes or hours. Rapunzel was born about one hour in—but people are different. I'd sit down, if I were you. Your legs are going to give out in a second."

Eugene nodded and weakly sank into a chair set against the wall, staring at the closed doors of his and Rapunzel's bedroom. He could hear yelling—and groaning. It sounded miserable.

His face turned white, and he glanced at the king, "Are you sure she's all right?"

"Yes, Eugene. I am positive."

He shook his head, dropping his face into his hands, "I don't think I can do this…"

The king took the chair next to him and set a hand on his shoulder, responding, "Just wait."

So that is what they did.

* * *

Half an hour passed. Then a full hour passed. Another half hour passed.

The sun began to rise. Light spilled out from the window in front of them, its orange gleam tingeing the hallway the color of peach. Clouds—pink-hued puffy ones—drifted lazily across the sky. It was a quiet sunrise, as though the world was still holding its breath, waiting for the moment to come. Eugene watched the sun's beginning ascent, his unshaven face in his hands as his blood-shot eyes stared at the window. The king watched it with him, and he had a strong crease marking his brow.

For the room beyond was now silent, and both men could only guess at what that meant.

Apparently unable to stand it, the king rose to his feet and muttered, "I'll get us some coffee."

Eugene nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

He could hear the man's footsteps disappearing into the distance, and he looked at the guard standing watch. The soldier merely nodded, a faint smile of encouragement on his otherwise stern face. Eugene nodded in return, and then went back to staring at the sunrise.

Then the door of the bedchamber opened, and the queen stepped out.

She was tired, and her hair was fluffed out as though she had been pulling at it for the past hour. But there was a gentle smile on her face—and a bundle in her arms.

Her son-in-law straightened as she approached him. He cleared his throat, whispering, "How is she?"

The queen smiled at him, "Rapunzel is fine. She's just resting now."

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet, dear. Right now you have someone else to see."

Eugene spotted the blanket-wrapped something she was cradling. Instantly, his heart quivered. He knew what was expected of him—but he just could not bring himself to do it until the queen ordered him.

"Hold out your arms, Eugene."

He did, hardly moving as she carefully gave him her grandchild.

"Support her head—there you go."

Then the woman said, "I'll let you take care of your daughter. Now I need to go see mine."

He did not even notice her leaving.

Eugene gazed, fascinated, at the tiny pink creature in his arms. She was so small—so vulnerable. He could see, from the way her mouth moved while she slept, that she would have her mother's smile. She had inherited the same dark brown hair as both of them, though, and it lay soft and wispy upon the round little head. But her face was very much Rapunzel's and Catherine's—even with all the chubbiness that most babies had.

Then she wiggled slightly in her blanket, adjusting so as to be more comfortable. He could feel her moving against his arms—her small body adapting to this new bed. He heard her gentle breathing, and he realized how warm she was. The little girl was like a hot water bottle.

And, as she stirred again, Eugene felt a sense of protective responsibility come over him. It was a strong sensation—a literal force that immediately made him suspicious of everything in the room. He glared at the guard by the door and held the baby closer to his chest. The soldier frowned, and Eugene realized what he was doing and looked back to the baby. How could something so little implant such a fervent devotion within him? The baby girl was so weak and small and yet… yet she was his.

Annabelle Catherine Fitzherbert—was _his_. His daughter. His child. His little girl that he would watch grow up and learn and live. His to feed, to clothe, to take care of, to read to late at night, to sing to in the middle of the day, to dance through the halls of the palace with until they both grew too tired to stand. He would be able to show her the city and the ocean—would be able to sit under the stars and point out constellations to her. There was just so much he could do with this little girl, and so much he _wanted_ to do for her—he _had_ to do for her.

And Eugene knew that he loved the baby girl in his arms.

He watched her sleep, and he whispered, "Annabelle." Then instantly his mind shortened the name and he smiled, "Hey, Annie."

A few minutes went by, and then he heard a voice.

"Eugene, dear? You can come in now."

The prince consort looked up, and saw that the queen had returned. He stood, moving towards the bedroom, still holding Annabelle. Grinning, he said, "I have a girl."

"I know you do."

Eugene walked through the open door and headed over to where his wife lay in bed. She looked absolutely drained, and seemed to be sleeping. But at his entrance, Rapunzel's green eyes flickered open. She smiled.

"Good morning, my love." Eugene said, taking a seat on the bed beside her.

"Hello." Her voice was faint, but very happy.

Wordlessly, he handed her the little girl that had suddenly become sole and center in their lives. Rapunzel smiled, murmuring, "She's beautiful, Eugene."

"Yeah. But then again, look at who her parents are."

His wife laughed, "You're impossible."

"And you love me anyway."

She looked at him, "Yes I do."

Eugene leaned over and kissed the mother of his child. Then they both went back to gazing at their daughter, and the sun rose.


	4. Hide and seek fluffy

**Author Note**: Some more fluffy from the past :D thanks for all the reviews and for reading! :D I hope you like this bit :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Ready or not, here I come!" Rapunzel opened her eyes, gazing around their sitting room.

There was no one in sight. The couch stood as it always had, and the coffee table remained untouched. The nooks by the fireplace were vacant, while the side counter next to her elbow had no one underneath. Even her husband's chair—sitting in the far corner next to the windows—had been left unconsidered as an appropriate hiding spot.

Then she spotted some movement at the curtained windows, and Rapunzel smiled.

"I wonder where my dear Thomas could be?" She sighed, looking all around for a sign of her son.

There was a brief giggling behind the curtains, which was quickly stifled. Rapunzel tiptoed over to the windows, muttering, "I don't see him by Daddy's chair… I don't see him under the couch… maybe he left the room?"

Her ears could very easily detect the sound of someone trying his hardest to be silent. Her smile broadened, and Rapunzel casually leaned on the wall next to the windows.

"Hmmm—_where_ did Tom go? Would he be-," she pulled back the drapery, exclaiming, "-behind the curtains?"

Her three year-old son grinned at her, his brown hair messed up from hiding. Rapunzel immediately caught him up in her arms, tickling him as he squirmed and laughed happily. She grinned, kneeling down to continue her tickle attack and covering him with kisses.

"I found you, Tom!" Rapunzel declared, laughing as the little boy giggled, his brown eyes gleaming in the sunlight from the window.

"You hide next?" He asked expectantly, panting.

"I hide next?"

Thomas nodded, beaming, "Yeah."

Rapunzel sat back on her feet, "Okay. But remember, if you don't find me in time I get one kiss."

"Okay." Then, apparently not understanding the rules of the game, the little boy threw his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, sweetie!" His mother said expressively, releasing him and rising to her feet.

He grinned—and she could see a faint self-satisfaction in that grin that immediately made her think of her husband.

"All right," Rapunzel whispered, "go count—I'll hide."

Thomas nodded and sped off to the far door to set his face against it. His little voice drifted through the quiet room, "One, six…five, nine…eighty…"

"Must've learned math from Eugene." Rapunzel murmured, sneaking over to the couch and crouching down behind it.

Her son's counting trailed off, and she knew he had started seeking. She waited for twenty seconds, hardly breathing. Then, knowing that he often gave up early, Rapunzel popped out from behind the couch to catch him again.

But he was not there.

Rapunzel looked around in confusion, and then saw that the door was half-opened, as though a very short person had unlatched the handle and wandered out. Her eyes widened, and she ran out into the corridor. Whipping around, she gazed down both sides of the hallway. Her son was nowhere in sight.

Rapunzel's heart started beating fast, and she began to walk briskly down the hall. It's okay, she told herself, he's probably just around the next corner. However, upon reaching it, she saw that the hall was also empty. There was a stairwell—but Thomas was too young to climb down the stairs by himself!

She darted forward, sweeping her eyes down the long stairs. He was not there, either.

The princess took a deep breath, muttering, "Okay—okay. Don't worry, Rapunzel. He's probably just—the other direction!"

Rapunzel turned and raced in the opposite direction, nearly knocking over a passing maid. She dodged past the linens cart, running towards the other set of stairs. Taking them two at a time, Rapunzel scanned the area. He had to be here—somewhere. A child that small could not move too far by himself. But once again, the crown prince was not to be found.

Her worrying increasing, Rapunzel sprinted down another hallway, this time decking her father's butler. The man slumped against a doorway, slightly stunned that he had just been slammed aside by his master's daughter without a thought in the world.

Then he heard her calling as she disappeared around the bend: "_Thomas_!"

"Ah—that's not good." He said, pushing himself gingerly off from the door.

Rapunzel dashed down another flight of stairs, gazing around the entrance hall. To think that her son had gotten this far—wait…

She heard clicking footsteps, and a rather stern, commanding voice somewhere near the front doors. The guards were dropping off their normal report. Rapunzel hurried forward, and had almost made it to the front doors when she spotted him tottering cheerfully around.

For a second, she sighed in relief—and then her heart nearly stopped as she realized her son was right in the way of the group of soldiers. The men were trained to stare straight ahead—they would never see him.

"THOMAS!" Rapunzel screamed, bolting towards the approaching men.

Instantly, the soldiers skidded to a noisy halt, bumping into each other and dropping their spears in the process. Thomas saw his mother and smiled, holding out his arms. Then he promptly tripped and fell onto his front on the hard, marble floor.

The little boy began to cry.

"No, no, no—it's okay. Tom, I'm here. Mommy's here—I've got you." Rapunzel knelt down next to her son and hugged him tightly, rubbing his back as he sobbed into her shoulder.

The guards stood awkwardly to the side, slightly embarrassed at seeing their princess comforting her son. Especially when it very well could be their fault that he was crying.

"Shhh, Tom." She stood, still holding the boy in her arms.

The lieutenant—Rapunzel thought his name was Charlie—stepped forward.

"Um, I'm sorry, your 'ighness," he grinned weakly. "We didn't see 'im."

"It's okay." Rapunzel looked down at her son, "You're fine now, aren't you Tom?"

Charlie bowed to his prince, "Sorry, sir."

Thomas just gaped at him, one finger investigating his nose.

Rapunzel laughed, "He doesn't know what that means, Lieutenant. Thank you for not stepping on my son."

"Anytime, Miss." Charlie replied, not knowing what else to say.

The princess smiled and began to head back to the staircase, whispering, "Let's go give you a bath, Tom."

Thomas turned around in her arms, still staring at the guards. He removed his finger from his nose and waved at the lieutenant. Charlie absently waved back, and then realized his men were watching him curiously. He grunted.

"A'right men! Form h'up!"

The soldiers straighten their lines and continued their march down the hall.

* * *

Later that evening, Rapunzel, Eugene, and their children were all relaxing in the sitting room. Rapunzel was on the couch, brushing Annabelle's hair. She gently smoothed out her long brown locks, humming quietly. Eugene sat in his chair by the fireplace, trying to read a report he had been given as well as balance his youngest daughter on his knee. Thomas, having quite gotten over his fall that afternoon, scampered around the room, carefully placing Pascal on every surface imaginable.

The chameleon changed colors at once to match the fabric or wallpaper or floor. Each transformation brought a grin to the boy's face and a short laugh. Then he would run to another place so Pascal could perform this amazing trick again. The poor chameleon was getting tired—Thomas had been capering about for an hour now.

Rapunzel smiled at her husband, "So, Thomas had a run-in with the palace guard today."

"Did he? Ginger-snap, please stop tugging on the goatee." Eugene said, wincing as his daughter twined her tiny fingers into the scruff on his chin.

His wife nodded, adjusting her daughter's hair as she remarked, "Yes. It reminded me of a certain thief I once knew."

"Like Flynnigan Rider?" Annabelle asked, glancing back at her mother.

"Sort-of."

"What's that mean?"

Eugene stretched out his arm to the bookcase behind him to withdraw a rather battered volume, groaning, "It means that we'll tell you about it later."

"All right, Dad."

"Thomas." Eugene called his son over.

The boy released Pascal and walked towards his father, plopping down right in front of him. Free at last, the chameleon scurried over to Annabelle and climbed up to collapse into her hands. She gently stroked the reptile's back, frowning, "Tom, you wore him out."

Rapunzel set down the hairbrush and nodded towards her husband, "All done, Annie. Now let's go give your father an audience."

Her daughter complied, and they both went over to sit down before Eugene's chair. The prince consort gazed down at the faces of his wife and children. He smiled, "You never get tired of it, do you, Rapunzel?"

"Nope." She shook her head, pulling her son and daughter closer to herself.

"Okay, then." Eugene flipped open the crumbling book, even as he tried to keep Ginger from grasping his beard.

"There once was a man named Flynnigan Rider. He was the richest man in the world, and one day a sea captain decided to ask Flynnigan if he would join him on a voyage…"


	5. Business agreements

**Author Note**: Get to see some Grandfather and Ginger time! :D yay for the cuteness! :D thanks for reading and reviewing, I hope you guys enjoy it! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The king of Corona glared sternly at the parchment in front of him, hoping that eventually the words on it would squeak in fright and run away. The loopy writing of his 'friend' King Dalen, however, remained quite unmovable. Sighing, the king retook up the text, muttering aloud as he read.

"'It would be very expediential if your Majesty would allow Salisbury's ships into Corona's magnificent harbor at a lower price than the dock masters currently hold. The lessening of such a tax will increase exports from Corona's sister kingdom of Salisbury and thus introduce new commerce to the wonderful subjects of your Majesty. The trade would prosper betwixt the two kingdoms, and a stronger brotherhood will blossom between King Dalen and your Majesty. We would be comrades at arms and at sea. We will increase in capital and the marketplaces of our people will be joyous and bountiful. The riches gained from such an enterprise…' oh, balderdash!"

The king moodily threw the paper back onto his cluttered desk, wishing Dalen and his flowery words an illness that would render the man incapable of speech. He knew exactly what the conniving crook wanted—and it had nothing to do with 'blossoming brotherhoods' or 'prospering trade' between the kingdoms. What he wanted was an increase of taxing on Corona's subjects so that his ships (full of mediocre goods, no doubt) could get into the harbor cheaply. Well, 'your Majesty' was not going to have it!

"I refuse." The king declared, his eyes darkening at the letter.

"Dad?"

He looked up and saw that his daughter and granddaughter had just entered the room. Rapunzel smiled, shifting two year-old Ginger from one hip to the other. Her father shook his head distractedly.

"I'm sorry, dear. Did you say something?" He asked, watching as she approached his desk.

"Well—if you're not too busy could you watch Ginger for me? Just for ten minutes… I need to go see about something and it would be easier if I didn't have to keep up with her while doing it."

Her father nodded, "I suppose. Just sit her here on the floor," he took a sheaf of papers from his desk drawer and a packet of crayons. "She likes drawing, doesn't she?"

Rapunzel gently set her daughter onto the rug and accepted the offered paper and crayons. She knelt down next to Ginger, pouring crayons out onto the carpet.

"Just stay with Papa for a little bit, Ginger. Mommy will be right back."

Her daughter nodded and immediately set about drawing on the paper. Rapunzel went back over to her father.

"What are you doing that's got you so upset, Dad?"

"It's an expensive treaty that one of those dopes with a crown wants me to sign. Foreign trade business." He replied grumpily, crossing his arms.

"Well," his daughter kissed him on the cheek, "I hope you can figure out what to do."

The king smiled faintly, "Thank you, Rapunzel."

"You're welcome, Dad." She left the room.

He listened to the scrawling sounds Ginger was making across the paper, closing his eyes slightly at the noise. It was a pensive, careful sort of music—as if the little girl were seriously considering and musing on every line and curve she made. He knew that Rapunzel had the same passion for art that Ginger seemed to be showing, and he also could tell—just by the way his granddaughter sketched—that the little girl loved it deeply. It was a very interesting thing to think about. Much more interesting than ludicrously boring and dishonest trade agreements, anyway.

The king groaned and rose to his feet, moving to the balcony doors behind his chair. He opened them as the strong, salt breeze from the ocean struck him full in the face. The sea air always made him feel younger, somehow. It had an exciting, mystical sensation about it as it blew through the sails and made the waves dance. He had never gotten tired of the smell of his island home.

Which, of course, meant that he should probably go back to taking care of it.

Sighing, the king shut the doors and returned to his seat. Appraising the surface of his desk, however, he was unable to locate Dalen's dratted letter. Where could it have—ah.

The wind must have blown his papers because they were now strewn across the carpet of his study. He stood up and began to retrieve the various letters and reports, searching for Salisbury's seal. After a while he stood up, frowning at the papers in his hands. None of them was the trade agreement.

Ginger coughed slightly from where she sat on the floor, drawing to her heart's content. He looked down at her. That paper she was drawing on looked rather familiar.

"Ginger, can I see this?"

She watched as he took away her picture—a good likeness of Pascal—and flipped the paper over. Slowly, a wide smirk spread across the king's face.

"You keep working on that, dear girl," he gave the picture back to her. "When you've finished, I'll have it framed."

Chuckling evilly, the king returned to his desk and pulled out a piece of stationary. Then, barely concealing his glee, he took out his quill to write a reply to King Dalen of Salisbury.

Upon finishing, the king leaned back and read it quietly to himself as his granddaughter continued to color enthusiastically.

"'I'm afraid, my dear friend, your Majesty, that I accidentally lost the trade agreement you sent me. Well, perhaps lost isn't quite the word for it. Let's just say that my granddaughter—you should understand about grandchildren considering you talk about yours all the time—has recently developed an artistic ability. She somehow managed to seize that document of happiness that you so kindly wrote up for me, and colored a beautiful picture upon it. The treaty is worthless now, so you will have to send another one for Thursday when I can discuss the matter over with my dock masters. Thank you very much for your proposal—King Thomas of Corona.'"

Ginger rose unsteadily onto her little feet and wobbled over to her grandfather's chair, holding up her recently finished drawing. The king took the paper from her, set it on his desk, and then picked the little girl up in his arms. At once, she became fascinated by his beard and mustache. But he did not mind.

"Ginger, my dear girl, you are a marvel." He told her, smiling as she pulled at the hair on his chin.

"Goatee?" She mumbled, looking at him.

"No, that's what your father has. Silly little thing, really, but Rapunzel likes it. This," he stroked at his beard, "is what a _real_ man wears."

Ginger smiled, "Papa."

"Very good, dear girl."

The remaining minutes passed quietly with the king picking objects off his desk and giving them to his granddaughter for her to examine. He wondered if he should put off the rest of the day's workload and spend his time instead with the little girl in his arms. But then his daughter returned.

"Sorry for leaving her with you, Dad." Rapunzel said, coming over to his desk to get Ginger.

He shook his head, carefully handing his granddaughter over, "No worries. In fact, I think she helped me more than anything else."

Rapunzel glanced at Ginger, frowning, "What do you mean?"

"She's very encouraging when one needs encouragement. I do have one request, though."

"All right."

He smiled, "Can I borrow Ginger for next Thursday?"

"Why?"

The king held out his hands, "Oh, let's just say she helped me out with a certain business negotiation."

Rapunzel's eyes narrowed, "What are you up to?"

"You're too much like your mother," he said, rubbing his chin. "You always think I'm up to something."

She shrugged, and began to move back towards the door, "That's because you are, Dad. But you can take Ginger for Thursday on one condition."

"Name it."

Rapunzel flashed him a rather cruel grin as she departed, "You take the other two as well."


	6. Knighting ceremony 1

**Author Note**: Okay, I'll admit it, I like writing about the royal family better than I do about the pub thugs... :( sorry, but it's harder to write for them than it is for the Fitzherberts! But I will get back to them, I promise! :D Anyway, these next few are going to be a tad more serious, dealing with a knighting ceremony. Thanks again for reading and reviewing! :D it's a pleasure to see what you think! :D hope you enjoy this bit! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Do we _have_ to go?" Thomas complained, pulling at his cravat.

Rapunzel, kneeling down to help him, sighed, "Yes, Tom. We _have_ to go."

"But why do we have to wear these stupid clothes?" He gestured at his dark vest, crisp white shirt, breeches and stockinged feet.

Rapunzel continued to fix his cravat, replying, "Because they make you look nice."

"But Gin' doesn't have to wear-," he lifted up a leg and tugged at his stocking, "-these things."

"That's because she's a girl, Tom. She wears slippers—you wear boots. You need stockings with yours and she doesn't."

"I don't like it."

"I know you don't." She stood up and gently pushed him towards the door of the sitting room. "Now go and get your boots on."

He walked off, murmuring grumpily, "Yes Ma'am."

His mother sighed and went to another door set in the far wall, her fine, iris-colored dress rustling around her bare feet. She entered her room to find that her husband was standing before a mirror, grimacing as he tried to tie his cravat. Eugene wore almost the exact same outfit as his son, except in adult-size, and he looked very handsome. Well, Rapunzel thought as she watched him struggle with his cravat, he would look handsome if he stopped making faces at himself.

Eugene glanced over to see that Rapunzel had returned. He moaned, asking, "Do we _have_ to go?"

"Yes, dear, we do. You sound just like your son and," she laid a hand on his shoulder, making him turn around, "you're having the same amount of trouble with your tie."

"We Fitzherbert men have never found the use for ties." He muttered, tilting his chin upward so his wife could tie his cravat for him.

"Well, you're finding a use for it now."

"I just don't understand why we're going to the Salisbury knighting ceremony in the first place. It's not like we know anyone over there and besides," Rapunzel finished tying his cravat, "your father hates King Dally or whatever his name is."

She smoothed down his collar and smiled, "You look very handsome, Eugene."

"And you look very beautiful, Rapunzel." He smiled back.

"Thank you."

"But-," he began, watching as his wife went to the closet to fetch his coat, "-I still don't understand why we have to go. Nor why we have to bring the kids with us."

"It would be good for them to see a knighting ceremony. We also need to represent Corona's interests in Salisbury. Besides, Mom and Dad need a quiet night." Rapunzel came over and helped him into his long coat.

"Sure, _they_ need a quiet night, but what about us? I mean, think about it," he grinned, "it's a long way to Salisbury and we'd have the coach _all_ to ourselves."

She rolled her eyes as he stuffed his arm into a sleeve, "Yes, that sounds _real_ romantic—a coach bumping along a dirt road all the way to Salisbury."

"Well, we don't have to go to Salisbury—we could just go out of town and-."

She tapped him impatiently on the back of his head, "No."

"Fine." He said despairingly. Rapunzel moved to his front to look him up and down, making quite sure that all was in order.

"I'm good, dear." He held up his wrist, pointing at the shiny golden sun on his coat cuff, "I've even got cuff-links."

"Trimmings and everything." Rapunzel grinned.

"So now I'm a Christmas tree? That's a new one."

"I've got plenty more where that came from." She handed him a thin golden chain, "Necklace."

Eugene carefully pulled the jewelry around his wife's neck, commenting, "I hope you realize what you're getting us into. After all, the trip there takes about an hour—the ceremony itself will be another two hours—and then we'll have a feast that will mostly consist of weird food and soldiers telling war stories that look like the weird food."

"Well you don't have to eat any of it or listen."

"But I do have to be there."

She turned around to look at him, "Not necessarily. If you absolutely wanted to stay, I could go by myself, leave the kids here with you, and talk to the good-looking young knights."

He pouted, "You're a cruel woman, love. What kind of wife would betray her husband like that?"

"The kind of wife who doesn't like being away from her husband and wants to spend every second with him if she can afford it. You've been working non-stop all week and I miss you."

Eugene gazed into her green eyes, his forehead wrinkling as he said, "I'm sorry."

His wife smiled softly, "It's all right."

"I would be more than happy to go to the knighting ceremony with you and our wonderful children." He proclaimed, giving a little bow.

"Good—because you'll be sitting next to Thomas during the ceremony."

He shook his head, "The boy never listens."

"You'll be able to keep him entertained far better than I can. You know that."

"Okay, dear."

She glanced at the clock on the wall, "Time to go. You've got everything?"

"As much as I need and," he fiddled with his cravat, "as much as I don't want."

Rapunzel picked up her clutch purse and headed towards the door. Her husband called her back.

"Oh, Rapunzel?"

She turned around to see that Eugene was dangling her iris slippers from two fingers, smiling at her.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

She sighed, "Do I have to?"

"Well, no. But the good people of Salisbury will be offended to see your adorable toes. It would be scandalous."

Rapunzel darted up to him and snatched the slippers away, muttering, "It's not like anyone will see my feet anyway."

"And if they did they would run away in shock."

"Nice tie." She retorted.

Eugene frowned, "It's called a _cravat_."

* * *

The trip to Salisbury was a rather long and, due to the season and fancy clothes, hot one. In an effort to alleviate boredom, Eugene tried to engage his children into a simple game of I-spy. This pastime lasted for about ten minutes before Thomas went back to moaning loudly. Ginger, on the other hand, had a terrific time and continued the game well into the ride.

"I spy with my little eye something…" she gazed out of the coach window intently, her bare feet pressing down on the seat. "Green!"

"Is it a tree?" Eugene asked, yanking irritably at his cravat.

"Daddy you cheated!" Ginger pouted at him.

He smiled, "I'm sorry, Ginger-snap. There's just not much else to see."

"You go next."

Rapunzel frowned, "Ginger, say 'please'."

"Please go next?" The little girl asked, turning to her father.

Eugene sighed, "All right. I spy with my little eye-," he let his sight wander over the interior of the carriage, seeing the rich upholstery and plush cushions. If it were a little less crowded and a little less warm, the coach could be quite comfortable. But now, with his son jammed on one side of him, his daughter on the other, and his wife and Annabelle seated across, there was very little room for mobility. It was hot, he was tired of playing I-spy, and they had barely left Corona's borders.

"Something white." He decided, assuming that since the whole interior of the coach was cream-colored, his daughter would guess it quickly.

"Your teeth?"

He frowned, "Why would I spy my teeth? I can't see them without a mirror."

"Your shirt?"

"No."

"Tom's shirt?"

"No, Ginger-snap."

"Annie's bow?"

"Nope."

"Mommy's teeth?"

Eugene rubbed his eyes wearily, noticing that his wife was barely concealing a smile. He shook his head, responding calmly, "No, dear. Even though your mother has beautiful pearly-whites, it's not her teeth."

"What is it then?"

"It's the coach, Gin'! It's the stupid coach!" Thomas, apparently fed up with his sister's constant questions, finally exploded.

Rapunzel glared at her son, scolding, "_Thomas_! Don't shout at your sister."

"But Mom she's-."

"Don't, Thomas. Your mother's right." Eugene warned, looking down at the boy.

Thomas groaned and slumped against the wall of the coach, staring out the window at the passing trees. Eugene watched him, recognizing the danger signs. This night could go very badly if his son felt that his frustration would only disappear through annoying others. He could also tell that Thomas was getting hot—literally hot, the boy was sweating—and he opened up the window to allow cool air to blow in.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Annabelle asked, "So what's going to happen at this ceremony anyway?"

"Certain men of Salisbury are going to be recognized by the king for their bravery and power."

"And money." Eugene added, receiving a stern look from his wife.

Rapunzel nodded, "Yes, well—mostly they'll be recognized for how loyal they are to the kingdom."

"And their money."

"_Eugene_."

"What? You can't say that it might not be true."

She rolled her eyes, "Okay, it might be true. But what _we_ are going to see is King Dalen commending five of his finest noblemen before witnesses. Then, they'll be knighted, and everyone will call them 'Sir whateveryournameis'."

"_That's_ what they'll call them?" Her husband laughed, even as he shoved up his sleeves.

"Eugene, don't do that, you'll wrinkle your coat."

"Rapunzel dearest, I'm burning up and I don't care. How much longer before we arrive?"

Rapunzel shrugged, "You have the pocket watch."

"Right." He reached into one pocket, and then into the other. Frowning, he searched again—only to find that Ginger had stolen the candied mint he had been saving for later. But he still did not locate his watch.

"I think I left it back in Corona." Eugene muttered, leaning back onto his seat.

His wife gave an exasperated sigh, "Eugene, _why_ did you do that?"

"Hey, _you_ were the one who was rushing us out to the coach. You almost forgot your shoes, remember?"

"I don't see how that matters."

Eugene grunted, folding his arms and gazing fixedly at the shiny toe of his extremely uncomfortable dress boot. He could see Rapunzel's toes poking out from beneath her dress, and he envied her freedom.

* * *

Eventually, they reached Salisbury and rolled along the cobblestone streets to the royal castle. The city overlooked the ocean from a cliff, with its docks at the rocky bottom and the king's great keep towering on top. It was not as pretty as Corona, for it had been built ages ago during a war when its main concern had been fortification. The stone houses were grim, the townsfolk appeared secretive, and the ramparts of the city wall rose up, seeming to confine those they were intended to protect. It did not look pleasant or open, and immediately Eugene felt on edge.

He had visited Salisbury during his days as a thief. The city had been suffocating to his movement and always made him depressed. He suddenly wondered, as their coach approached the dark gates of the keep, why he had brought his family here. The whole place reeked of danger, and he remembered why he had concealed a knife within his jacket. He did not trust Salisbury. Not one bit.

The prince consort, the princess, and their three children emerged out under the tarp set over the great doors of the castle. According to a nearby guard, it was supposed to rain towards the middle of the evening. Eugene glanced upward at the sky, seeing that the storm was approaching from the sea. Bad weather over a bad town full of bad memories… and he had brought his family _here_?

"Eugene?" There was a soft touch on his arm.

He looked down at his wife, knowing that she had seen his jaw tighten and his shoulders tense up. He tried to smile.

"I'm all right, love."

Rapunzel shook her head, "You don't look all right."

"Well-," there was a rumble of thunder off in the distance, "-I never really liked Salisbury."

"Come on, dear." She slid her arm into his, and they led their children inside the dim halls of King Dalen's keep.

* * *

The five royal members of Corona took a seat in one of the long pews of the gloomy cathedral. Above, the rafters creaked and dust drifted down upon the muttering crowd. The building smelled musty and old. Every little noise echoed off the heavy altar, the pews, and the columns flanking each alcove. Statues of saints, their blind stone eyes somberly surveying the congregation, sat on the top of each column. Then, outside the stained-glass windows, rain started to pour.

Eugene shivered, pulling his coat tight about himself. He saw that his son, who was sitting to his left at the end of the pew, mimicked his actions. The prince consort turned right to look over at his wife and daughters. They were shivering too.

"Do you want my jacket?" Eugene asked Rapunzel.

She smiled, "No thank you. You wouldn't look as handsome without it."

"But you guys are cold. At least let Annie and Ginger-snap have it." He tried to remove his coat, but his wife stayed his arm.

"It's not allowed, Eugene."

"What do you mean it's not allowed? You guys are freezing-."

"Look around you."

He obeyed, and saw that none of the other men—even those with children and wives—had removed their coats. There was even a frail little old lady up at the front, quivering from the temperature, and her grandson had neglected to give her his furred jacket.

"Well, I don't know about them, but I'm not letting my daughters freeze to death." Once again, Eugene made to take off his jacket, but at the sound, everyone in the pews surrounding them turned to stare. They were not friendly stares, either.

"Um…" He stopped moving, and they stopped staring.

Finally, he consented and said, "At least let the girls sit between us."

Rapunzel nodded, ushering Annabelle and Ginger in between them. Eugene did not like seeing his wife sitting at the end by herself, but he knew that they had an unspoken agreement to keep the children safe. He raised his arm and set it about Annabelle's shoulders, warming her up.

"Thanks, Dad." She whispered as her mother did the same for Ginger.

"No problem, Annie."

At the front of the cathedral, a side door opened, and silence fell.


	7. Knighting ceremony 2

**Author Note**: Sorry 'bout not posting quickly-college gets in the way of writing-sad, but true... Anyhoo, I hope you guys enjoy this bit and I just want to say a big thank you to all of you who've kept up with me since my first story :D I very much appreciate each and every one of you! :D Thanks for reading and reviewing!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The ceremony had been underway for about twenty minutes. On the dais before him, Eugene could see the soon-to-be-knights kneeling before the white-robed clergyman. In a quavering voice, the clergyman mumbled about the aspects of bravery, loyalty, and strength each man had shown in their various offices. Eugene could accept that for four of them—the infantryman, the cavalry soldier, the navy sailor, and the king's squire—but for an _accountant_?

"Suppose someone has to combat those numbers." Eugene whispered.

Behind him came an austere, "A-hem."

Apparently you were not allowed to speak during knighting ceremonies, either.

Eugene tried to pay attention, but he could sense Annabelle sinking slightly beside him, and he already heard Ginger's faint snoring. Rapunzel, however, was watching the clergyman with the same, strong concentration he had learned to expect from her father. A crease of contemplation marked her brow, indicating her attentiveness.

He smiled somewhat and turned his head to check on his son. Thomas was slouched in his seat, glaring at the back of the pew in front of them and yawning. Eugene gently nudged him with his elbow, muttering, "Stay awake, Thomas."

"A-hem."

Eugene rolled his eyes. Then, he suddenly realized that his son was elbowing him back. He looked down.

Thomas flashed him a quick grin and continued nudging him. Eugene glanced over at his wife, making certain she was still absorbed in whatever that doddering clergyman was stammering, and elbowed Thomas. His son returned the gesture, a little bit harder this time. Eugene chanced one last look at Rapunzel before responding again, also a little bit harder.

Thomas laughed, and hastily turned his laughter into coughing. Rapunzel looked over at them, a question in her eyes, and Eugene merely shrugged.

"_A-hem_." Came the grunting again.

Shooting a glare behind him, Eugene retried to listen to the clergyman speak about the accountant's good nature and chivalry. His son, however, had other ideas, and elbowed him again.

Still gazing at the dais, Eugene shoved his arm in Thomas's direction, receiving a faint sound of contact. Then a small, sharp elbow dug into his side. Eugene balled his hand into a fist and punched Thomas—lightly, of course, so that it did not hurt—but enough to assure him he had not given up on the game. Thomas, however, did not know the meaning of light. His punch came rather firmly against his father's ribs.

Eugene groaned.

"A-_he_-hem."

Ignoring the noise, Eugene punched his son again. Thomas punched him. He punched Thomas. The prince punched him. Eugene responded, and, barely a second later, Thomas responded back.

This was turning into a rather fun game.

A whisper met his ears, "Eugene."

He glanced at his wife, even as Thomas landed another blow to his side.

"A-hem. A-hem."

Rapunzel's eyes slid over to stare sternly at whoever was grunting. Eugene took this opportunity to punch his son again.

Thomas, using all his might, struck against his father, earning a weak moan. Rapunzel leaned over to frown at her son. He grinned innocently and quickly straightened in his seat.

"Stop it." She mouthed at her husband.

"Ah-_hem_."

Eugene nodded, and began to wonder if the person behind them was having a complex of some kind. Maybe he could not help it.

Just then, Thomas scored another hit. Eugene replied in kind. Thomas made an 'oof' sound.

Rapunzel met her husband's eyes again, mouthing, "I _said_ stop."

"_A_-_ha_-_hem_."

"It keeps him entertained." Eugene mouthed back, as another severe grunting came from behind. Thomas pounded him again.

Eugene punched him and heard a strange clattering as something happened up at the front.

He waited, expecting another punch in return. One did not come. Eugene frowned, and looked over to see that his son's seat was empty.

He then realized that he had accidently punched his son out into the aisle. Thomas was lying spread-eagled, with a rather confused expression on his face, on the hard floor of the cathedral. Eugene gulped and reached out a hand, grabbing Thomas by the back of his jacket and hoisting him up into his seat. Thankfully, one of the knight's benedictions was going on, and everyone had their head bowed in prayer. Everyone, that is, except his wife, his children, and that annoying fellow behind them.

"_Eugene_!" Rapunzel hissed.

"Hah-hem."

His wife sighed, her forehead wrinkled by a thin line of irritation.

Eugene reclined sheepishly in his seat, his back scraping against the pew. Unfortunately, his knife, which he had hidden under his vest, clacked against the wooden back of the bench. The sound was muffled by his jacket and vest, but Rapunzel could still hear it. She looked at him again, and this time he was fairly certain he could see a dangerous fire of curiosity in those green eyes.

"What was that?" She mouthed.

He smiled casually, mouthing, "What was what?"

Her eyes narrowed, and Rapunzel whispered, "You know exactly what."

"A-hem-hem-_hem_." The cough shook more dust from the rafters.

"It's nothing."

"A-hem."

"Eugene, what do you have?"

"A-hem."

"A knife."

"You brought a knife?"

"Aha-hem!"

"It was a precautionary measure."

"You don't bring knives to knighting ceremonies unless you're the one doing the knighting!" Rapunzel whispered angrily.

"_A-hem_!"

Eugene, irritated from being grunted at, turned around to stare straight into the man's mud-grey eyes and coughed deafeningly: "A-HEM!"

The man was so surprised he forgot to clear his throat. Eugene turned back towards the front, smirking smugly. Then he noticed that Rapunzel was glaring at him.

Eugene winced. That glare almost hurt.

Thomas punched him again.

* * *

After the long, boring knighting ceremony ended, it was time for all the guests to adjourn to the royal dining hall for a feast of celebration. Wearily, the royal family of Corona rose to their feet as the rest of the congregation stood with them. There was muttering, and eventually a low, thrumming buzz of conversation rose into the chilly air of the cathedral.

Eugene patted his son on the head, apologizing, "Sorry for knocking you out of the pew, Thomas."

"It's okay, Dad."

Rapunzel poked her husband in the back as they were exiting the pew, fussing at him. "Just what do you think you were doing?"

He shrugged, "I was keeping him entertained, Rapunzel. Like you told me to do."

"I didn't mean like that!"

"Mom, it's okay, really." Thomas tried to come to his father's defense, but at one look from his mother, he quickly shut his mouth.

"Children," Rapunzel said sternly, "let's go to the reception hall. Then I want to speak with _you_," she glared at her husband, "alone."

Eugene knew, sadly, that she did not mean the good kind of alone.

The prince consort sighed and followed his wife as she swept down the aisle. Ginger, rubbing sleepiness from her eyes, took his hand.

"Daddy, how much longer are we going to stay here?"

"Another hour or so."

"Oh… I wanted to go to bed."

He smiled, "I know, Ginger-snap. But the food should be good."

"I thought you said they don't know how to cook." She frowned at him.

"Well-," he hesitated, glancing at the Salisbury nobility they were mingling with, "-I was mostly joking."

"Okay." Ginger yawned.

Eugene saw that she was still rather sleepy, and he picked her up to carry her the rest of the way to the dinning hall. A few puzzled looks were thrown in his direction, but he ignored them.

At the door of the reception chamber, Rapunzel told Annabelle where they were to sit and sent her and her brother and sister to the table. Then she turned upon her husband. He smiled uncertainly, brushing back his hair from his eyes. Rapunzel seized him by his sleeve and tugged him over to stand behind a nearby statue of King Dalen.

She released his arm, snapping through gritted teeth, "Why on earth did you bring a knife?"

"To butter my rolls," Eugene replied sarcastically. "Why else do you think I brought it?"

"Eugene, you don't bring knives to other countries when you are friendly to the crown!"

He sighed, muttering patiently, "Rapunzel, dearest, I wasn't going to go to another kingdom with my family without some form of protection. You can rant and rail at me all you want—but I refuse to take you or the kids someplace possibly dangerous and not have something to defend you with."

His wife gaped at him, "_Salisbury_? You think Salisbury is dangerous?"

"Well… yes."

"Oh, Eugene… _why_?" Rapunzel hid her face with her hands, groaning.

He looked down at her, responding, "I've been here before."

"And so have I, Eugene!" She exclaimed, meeting his eyes. "So have I. And there's _nothing_ to be worried about."

Eugene took her by the shoulders, muttering quickly, "You haven't seen what I've seen, okay? You haven't seen the alleyways filled with robbers or the bars filled with drunkards or the streets darkened by night. You've only ever been up here in the keep, Rapunzel. You haven't seen the danger that's just waiting for us down below."

The seriousness with which he spoke, and the intensity of his gaze, suddenly made Rapunzel very worried. She clenched his arm.

"Are you—are you really being-?"

"Yes."

His wife's eyes widened, her face growing pale.

Eugene smiled slightly, "I'm not saying that we'll be attacked, dear. And I'm not saying that I'll even have to use the stupid thing. Call it a thief's nervous habit, but I am incapable of bringing the most important part of my life anywhere without knowing I can protect them."

She nodded, "I understand, Eugene."

"Then why do you still look doubtful?"

Rapunzel frowned, answering in a low voice, "Because I'm starting to think I should have brought my frying pan."

Her husband laughed shortly and then led her into the dining hall.

* * *

The room was a wide, spacious chamber. Like the rest of the castle, it was built of stone and felt rather oppressive—though the royal decorators had tried to improve on this somewhat by stringing up garish banners along the walls. The tables were set up according to kingdom, with lesser monarchs sitting farther from the buffet and roasting boar while the more powerful rulers received a full blast of the cooking smells. Several punch bowls sat at various intervals among the rows of tables, along with other beverages.

Eugene, with Ginger on one side and Thomas on the other, tried to balance the plates of food in his arms as they shuffled through the buffet line.

"How about this?" He asked his daughter, holding up a steaming piece of meat.

She shook her head, "Ew."

"Agreed. Okay—this?" He held up a slice of bread and, at her nod, set it onto her plate.

"Dad, can I have whatever that is?" Thomas pointed at a platter of some kind of green casserole.

"If you don't know what it is then why do you want it?"

He shrugged, "It looks interesting."

"Very well." Eugene ladled the casserole onto the plate. It landed with a 'splop', and suddenly Thomas did not seem so interested anymore.

"Never mind." He muttered, wrinkling his nose at his choice of food.

"Too late." Eugene replied.

His son glanced up at him, "Can we skip to the dessert table?"

"No. Your mother's mad enough at me already. I won't give her another reason to be frustrated tonight."

"_Dad_."

"Nope. Now take your green stuff and keep going up through the line. You can handle it, Thomas." The prince consort gave his son his plate and pushed him gently in front of him.

"Daddy, can I have some soup?"

Eugene nodded, "Sure, Ginger-snap. I'll take you over to the soup table."

After filling all their plates, the royal family sat down at their table to attempt to eat of the bounty of Salisbury.

"It's not a very good feast this year." One hardened Salisbury war veteran mumbled to Eugene as he poked at his boar steak.

"You don't _really_ mean that, do you?" Eugene asked sarcastically, trying to cut through his steak and finding the meat denser than rubber.

The soldier laughed heartily and clapped Eugene on the back, making him drop his fork.

"Ho ho, good chap! I like that! Now, what's your name again?"

"Eugene Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Corona." Eugene replied, easily stealing the man's untouched fork to make up for his own.

"_Corona_? Say, I remember fighting on the outskirts of Corona—t'was merely a small province then—during the Lockridge Wars."

"Did you?" He grunted, finally penetrating the outer surface of his steak.

"Why yes and—is that your son over there?"

Eugene turned to see Thomas idly pushing his food around his plate. Rapunzel, sitting between Thomas and her daughters, was talking to him quietly. The little boy sighed and took a bite out of his casserole. Then, when his mother was not looking, spat it back out onto his plate. There really was not much difference between the regurgitated and the uneaten food.

"Er—yeah. That's Thomas, crown prince of Corona."

The soldier rubbed at his white mustache, "Thomas? As in the great king of Corona?"

"Well, we named him after-."

"By Jove—so you're the fellow who married the lost princess?"

"Um, yes sir."

"Well, can I have a word with your son?"

"Can you—_what_?"

"A word, a word, old chap!" The man said impatiently. "I'm sure a young lad like him could use some advice from certain-," he tapped his nose knowingly, "-members of the Salisbury court."

"Erm… all right. Just—make sure he doesn't steal your food."

"What?"

Eugene coughed, "Nothing. Here, let me switch places with him."

His wife looked at him curiously as he and Thomas changed seats. She continued spearing her broccoli, and asked, "What are you doing?"

Eugene shrugged, "The old duffer wants to talk to Thomas."

"You're letting him?"

"He's all right—just a lonely man who wants to yak someone's ears off. Besides," he gave a slight snarl as he continued to try cutting his steak, "Thomas is bored and hungry. He might find something he likes on that guy's plate."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes at his words and attempts, finally holding out her hands. "Let me do it, Eugene."

"What makes you think-?" he stopped at her expression and handed over his knife and fork. "Okay."

With two brisk swipes, Rapunzel easily chopped through the steak. Eugene frowned, "How did you do that?"

"Chef Arnold says that when dealing with thick meat you have to approach it firmly."

"I _was_ being firm."

"Not the same kind of firm, dear." She gave him back his utensils.

Eugene stabbed up a piece of steak, muttering, "There are different kinds of firm?"

"Yes, there are."

"I'll take your word for it." He stuck the meat in his mouth, rolled it around between his teeth, and asked, "Gar' der diff'ent rays gof chu'wen doo?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear." Rapunzel replied lightly, nibbling at the end of a piece of broccoli.

Eugene continued to chomp down on the piece of meat. Eventually, however, he gave up and discreetly slipped the pulpy—but still completely inedible steak—into his napkin. Then he glanced over at his wife's plate.

"Are you going to eat all of that?" He indicated the cluster of fried shrimp.

"No. Annie wanted to have some."

"Oh."

There was a few seconds of Eugene swallowing mashed potatoes and looking resentfully at the fried shrimp his daughter would soon be enjoying. Suddenly, Ginger, sitting on the opposite side of Rapunzel, moaned.

"I wish they had peanut-butter and jelly."

"What about your soup?" Eugene asked, remembering that he had painstakingly scraped the last of the tomato stew into a bowl for her.

"I can't get my spoon out of it."

He did not believe his ears, "What?"

Annabelle grabbed her sister's spoon and yanked, saying, "She really can't get it out, Dad."

"Get your Mom to help you. She can do amazing things with this food."

Rapunzel shook her head, "I already tried, Eugene. That soup could be used to plug a dam."

"Wow. This place needs a new chef."

"Tell me about it." Annabelle said, trying to capture soupy cream corn with her spoon.

The next few minutes passed by in relative silence as each member of the royal family made various, and sometimes even violent, attempts at eating the meal set before them. Eventually, Rapunzel asked Eugene to go and fetch them more drinks.

He stood up and was just passing his son when Thomas reached out a hand and grasped his jacket.

"Dad—_help_." Thomas gazed up pleadingly at his father.

Beside him, the war veteran was puffing out his chest and announcing, "And that, my dear boy, is what a man's intestines look like when they've been jerked from his body. Ho ho—that was _very_ insightful—the army doctor had us freeze them overnight so that he could study it. Very ingenious idea. I haven't suffered from constipation since."

Eugene, assessing the situation at once, hastily said, "I need my son for a minute, sir."

"Oh? Are you sure? I still have another story about—what was it? Ah yes, the time my sword cleft-."

"Come on, Thomas, we need to go. Thank you sir." Bowing slightly, Eugene took his son by the arm and fled.

Thomas took a shallow breath, muttering, "He just wouldn't stop talking, Dad. It was like Uncle Albert's story all over again. I never want to eat another thing in my life…"

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I had no clue—are you all right?" He turned him around to look into his eyes, making sure that he had not accidently traumatized his son.

Thomas nodded, "Yeah… just—yuck."

Eugene smiled, "We're going to go get drinks for your mother and sisters, okay? Then you can have your old seat back."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's go to the punch table."

Eugene led him over to the small table and proceeded to pour punch—the only thing here fit for human consumption—into the goblets he was holding. Thomas leaned against the table, looking idly around at the crowd of people. There were two hairy nobles arguing about a drumstick at a nearby table, their voices rising over the general hubbub. Nearby, several people had started to dance to a rather badly tuned lyre. Not far from them he saw a group of ladies gossiping about princess something and prince something else. He also noticed a large woman with an unusual headdress talking to one of the recently ordained knights. The knight had to keep ducking as the lady turned around. Her headdress had nearly knocked him out twice already.

"Thomas, can you take this?" He looked up to take the goblet his father was giving him.

"That's your mother's cup. Be careful not to spill."

He nodded and they both went back to their table. Thomas gave his mother her cup, receiving a thank-you kiss in return, which he immediately tried to rub off his cheek. Eugene set his daughters' goblets onto the table.

"Dad?" Annabelle asked, looking at him.

"Yes dear?"

"Can I borrow your coat?"

"Sure." He removed his jacket and laid it on his daughter's shoulders. Thankfully, no one stared at him.

Eugene then took his seat and began to speak with the war veteran again, learning that his name was Col. Sedgwick. Sedgwick was, as Eugene had already noticed, a very talkative fellow. As the night wore on, Sedgwick described various battle scenes that Eugene only slightly paid attention to. His mind wandered as the colonel droned, and he thought about all the work he had waiting for him back in Corona.

"I'll tell you what, Eugene, I've never been to a knighting ceremony quite like that one." Sedgwick declared, drinking deeply from his glass.

"Really?"

"No. Ours were much more impressive—when my friend, Rochester, was knighted, we had a four hour service. Then there was a tournament afterward. Of course, his Majesty Dalen would not allow tournaments any more."

"Why not?"

"Simple matter really—usually one of the knights either died or was horribly injured. Not much use in knighting someone who wasn't going to be around for much longer, eh?" Sedgwick let out another one of those booming, and highly uncomfortable, laughs.

Eugene vaguely heard his wife sending their children off to the dessert table. His brain switched back onto the accounts he would be calculating up tomorrow. He had just finished one tricky sum while Sedgwick elaborated on a rather unfortunate tournament, when his son and daughters returned.

He glanced at Thomas and saw immediately that something was wrong with the boy. His eyes were narrowed, his arms crossed, and his face dark. He was also being very quiet, which practically screamed danger.

"Tom, are you all right?" Rapunzel asked, clearly seeing the change in her son.

He nodded, but did not answer.

Eugene frowned, "Thomas?"

"I'm fine."

"Tom, you're not feeling sick, are you?" His mother laid a hand on his forehead, but he merely glowered. She looked at her husband, concerned.

Eugene sighed, "Maybe he is. I mean, let's face it, the food here can't be good for your stomach."

"We should probably leave soon anyway. Ask your friend what time it is."

He nodded and turned back to the colonel, "Sir, do you have the time?"

Sedgwick snorted, "Time? Ah—time. Now that reminds me of another story."

"Thank you sir, but can you please tell me what the time is?"

"It was about twenty years ago, see, and me and Rochester were seasoned soldiers by that point. We were traveling along a hillock when, out of the blue, arrows began flying everywhere. I immediately shouted to Rochester to run, and we spurred our horses to the nearest stream—hoping to get away from them see—and-."

"Hold on, please."

Eugene turned back to his wife, about to suggest that they leave anyway, when he saw that his son's seat was empty.

"Rapunzel?"

She looked at him, and then at the seat, asking, "Where did Tom go?"

"I have no idea." Eugene replied, looking around for a sign of the boy.

But the reception hall was crowded and full of people moving and talking and eating. And their son was nowhere to be found.

* * *

**Author Comment**: That boy sure does go missing a bit, doesn't he? :) hopefully they'll find him in the next installment! :D


	8. Knighting ceremony 3

**Author Note**: Wow that was a lot of work! O.o sorry bout not posting for a long time, but homework, comprised with the difference of story, really made this one a bit difficult to finish! :) but I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out, and I hope you are too! :D Thanks for reading and reviewing! the next thing I post will be with the Uncles! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its story, and its characters

* * *

"I'll go look for him." Eugene said immediately, rising to his feet.

Rapunzel continued to scan the room, muttering, "He can't have gotten that far—what do you think is wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure. I'll find him, though. Don't worry."

"Too late for that."

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and left the table, stepping out into the busy crowd of partygoers. Eugene brushed past frivolously dressed men and ladies, ducking white powdered wigs and getting occasionally whacked in the stomach by a polished cane. He kept his eyes low, searching for the familiar form of a short, brown-haired boy amid the stomping boots and clicking heels. A puffy skirt rustled by, with velvet coattails not far behind. Another two coattails were conversing loudly about the market, their voices blathering on and on about bonds and stocks. Beyond them, a group of lacy dresses gabbled breathlessly on some other topic. Then, Eugene heard the chattering of small voices. He looked up hopefully, but saw that it was only Dalen's grandchildren playing tag. His son was not among them.

Suddenly, a waiter crashed into him, spilling dirty plates onto the hard floor and breaking several. Eugene tried to help the man up, apologizing profusely as the thin servant also tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry sir—I didn't see you."

"No, it's my fault, let me-."

"Here—you've got water all down your front now." The waiter tried to mop at Eugene's sopping wet vest, even as he tried to pick up platters and glasses from the floor.

Voices—pompous and sounding rather nasally—began whispering through the mob of people.

"I say, look at that man over there."

"Odd sort—what's he doing helping the waiter?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe he's not well?"

"Perhaps he's one of Dalen's servants?"

The waiter handed Eugene a towel, "Here you go, sir. Hopefully that should do it."

"Thanks. Hey, have you seen a short boy with brown hair by any chance?" Eugene held out his hand, indicating his son's height. "He's dressed just like me—his mother's choice—and looks like me too."

"So by that you mean he's your son?" The waiter asked, cradling plates in his arms.

"Yes. Have you seen him?"

"Over by the ice sculpture, last I saw him. Rolling around with those two brats of Sir Cassley."

Eugene frowned, "Rolling around?"

He nodded, "Fighting, from the grunts and the way fists were flailing. I think he was winning, though."

"Thank you." Eugene hurried off to where the ice sculpture—an overdramatic representation of Salisbury's crest of two swans—stood next to a punch table.

When he got there, however, he was unable to find his son. Eugene looked around at the small cluster of people getting drinks, wondering if somehow Thomas had disappeared among them. Then he heard a loud yelp, and someone rolled from underneath the long tablecloth of the punch table to stop right at his feet.

Thomas, his jacket missing, vest torn, and face scraped, opened his eyes to look up at his father. He winced guiltily, "Hi Dad."

"Thomas." Eugene bent down and took his son by the arms, hoisting him onto his feet.

Just then, two other boys, who were older and taller than Thomas, ran out from under the table, fists upraised. They also bore several bruises from the tussle, and one of them sported a brilliant black eye. One look at Eugene, however, made the older boy grab what was unmistakably his younger brother, and they ran.

"Come back and fight!" Thomas yelled, even as his father clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Sorry, folks." Eugene apologized, smiling innocently at the bystanders as his son struggled and let out muffled shouts.

Easily picking Thomas up, the prince consort of Corona retreated to an isolated corner and set the boy back onto his feet. Thomas stared at him for a few moments, panting. He was still angry—his face resembled a little storm cloud of rage.

"Thomas," Eugene began quietly, "are you hurt badly?"

His son shook his head, "Dad, we can't let those guys-!"

Eugene knelt next to him and grasped his shoulders, "Thomas."

"Let me go get them I'll-!"

"_Tom_."

The boy stopped in surprise. His father hardly ever called him 'Tom.'

"Are-you-okay?" Eugene asked, looking directly into his son's eyes.

"I—I-," a dribble of blood seeped out from his nose. He tried to wipe it away, muttering, "Ow."

His father pulled out the towel the waiter had given him and gently mopped at the boy's injuries. Then he tipped his son's head back, clamped the towel firmly over his nose, and held it there for a span of several seconds. Eugene grabbed Thomas's hand and set it where his had been.

"Keep pinching your nose, Thomas. I'll be right back."

The prince moaned and tried to ignore how much his face felt like someone had bashed it with a brick. When his father returned, he had a napkin full of ice in his hand. He switched out the towel for the ice, folding up the bloody cloth as Thomas clutched the napkin.

Eugene nodded at the ice, "Hold that to your face—wherever it hurts the most—and tell me what happened."

Thomas pressed the ice to his cheek and nose, his eyes narrowing, "They were picking on Gin'."

"They picked on your sister?"

He nodded slowly.

For a second, Eugene felt something constrict in his heart, and he suddenly yearned to go tear some stuffed-up kid's head off. Hastily shoving this wrath down, he continued to listen to Thomas's mumbled explanation.

"It was when we went to get dessert. Annie was busy and they were pulling Gin's hair and saying mean things. I tried to stop them, but they ran before Annie saw anything."

"Why didn't Ginger tell us about it?"

"She—um… she was scared…"

Eugene nodded. Ginger was like that sometimes. If something bad had happened to her when neither he nor Rapunzel had been around, she would generally keep quiet about it. Well, she would unless it was her brother or sister who had done the wrong. But if it was from someone else—and practically everyone adored Ginger upon first sight—she would be so shocked she was unable to comprehend it fully. It was a sort of strange, private pain she kept. It was not exactly a grudge—it was a hurt.

Once again, fury rose blazing within him, but he beat it back down. That was not his problem. Those monstrous kids were someone else's problem. His kids were his to deal with, just like Sir Cassley's brats were _his_ to deal with. He could not lose sight of that. Not here, anyway.

"Thomas, why did you decide to leave your seat and go fight them?" Eugene asked, swallowing back the snarl in his voice.

"Didn't want them to get away with it."

"Okay, but was it really your place to go and beat them up?"

Thomas shook his head, protesting, "I—I didn't _want_ to beat them up! I just—I wanted to tell them off and, well…"

"It got out of hand."

"I promise, Dad, I didn't want—I didn't _really_ want-."

"You're lying." Eugene said, brushing back his son's hair. "You did want to beat them up."

"I didn't want them to get away with it." Thomas repeated, avoiding his father's penetrating gaze.

"You wanted revenge."

"Not really-."

"Thomas."

He glared down at the floor in front of him, still squashing the ice against his face as he muttered, "Yes sir?"

Eugene sighed gravely, "You know better than that. _And_ you know better than to fight. _And_ you know that you weren't supposed to leave your seat without permission. So, do you know what all of that means?"

"Means I disobeyed."

"Yes. Do you know what else that means?"

Thomas winced, "Means we're going to 'talk' when we get home?"

"Yes."

"Dad, please-."

"No. You know what happens when you disobey. Though it might change considering how much punishment you already received," he took away the ice and examined the swelling. "Yeah—I'll talk to your mother about it. What happened to your jacket?"

He shrugged, "I don't know."

"Okay. As part of your punishment you can buy yourself a new one, then."

"Yes sir."

Eugene turned, "We should probably get back. Your mother will be frantic by now."

"Dad?" He felt his son grab hold of his shirtsleeve.

"Yes, Thomas?"

Thomas opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said softly, "I'm sorry."

Eugene smiled, "And I forgive you. Thank you, Thomas."

His son gave a slight smile in return, and followed him through the crowded room again and back to their table.

* * *

Rapunzel was by Ginger's chair, consoling the little girl, when they returned. Evidently she had thought to approach the problem from a different direction. Eugene was not really surprised—Rapunzel could not sit still when one of her children was missing and so she had to do something in the meantime. She also had that strong maternal instinct which told her if one of her kids was hurting for some reason or another. So usually she found out if Ginger was secretly upset before anyone else did. Eugene still had not managed to understand that yet.

His wife turned around at their arrival, and her eyes widened.

"Tom!" She ran to the other side of the table and took her son's battered face in her hands, "What happened?"

"He was fighting." Eugene answered quietly.

"What?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Right now," he moved towards a curious Col. Sedgwick, "I'm going to find out what time it is."

As Rapunzel took care of their children, Eugene leaned against the table to meet the old soldier's eyes.

"Colonel, can you please tell me what time it is?"

"Erm—yeah…" the man reached into his front pocket and withdrew a pocket watch. "'Bout nine or so. What happened to your son over there? Got into a scrape?"

Eugene nodded, "Yes sir, but we'll take care of it."

"Wasn't those Cassley lads was it?"

He cocked his head, "It was."

Sedgwick grimaced, "Please tell me he didn't rough them up too badly?"

"He might've gotten in a few punches. Why?"

"You'd better leave now. Sir Cassley's sons always get into fights and their father never assumes it's their fault. Instead he goes looking for their opponents. And-," his voice drew down into a hiss, "-he's a violent drunkard. You don't want your family around here anymore, your Highness."

Eugene nodded and turned to his wife, saying quickly, "We've got to leave—now."

Rapunzel frowned, wiping at her son's more painful cuts, "Eugene, can't you wait until I've cleaned Thomas up?"

"No, dear, I don't really think we can."

She looked at him, recognizing the note of urgency in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Our friend the colonel knows the father of the boys Thomas fought with. Apparently he doesn't take too kindly to having his kids beaten up."

Rapunzel's green eyes grew flinty, and she stood up, growling, "Neither do I—let's go meet that man."

"No, Rapunzel, no."

"Eugene, his kids hurt my baby boy!" She glared at him.

He nodded, stepping in front of her, "Yes and your baby boy hurt his kids and now he might want to hurt ours because of it."

"Let him try."

"No—Rapunzel—please!" She had seized her purse and was trying to get past him.

"Eugene, I am not letting some snot-nose kids terrorize Ginger and beat up Tom and not do anything about it." Rapunzel was getting angrier by the second. He had to head this off soon.

"Honey, listen to me." Eugene blocked her path again. He gently set his hands on her shoulders, whispering, "I know you're mad and I am too but we _can't_ get involved. It would be far better if we didn't get involved. Far safer. Safe."

She took a deep breath, her eyes softening. She nodded, "Okay. Let's go."

Eugene smiled, "Thank you, dear."

"I'm still not happy."

"Didn't expect you to be."

After saying a quick goodbye to the colonel, the royal family of Corona prepared to leave the banquet hall. They passed nervously through the crowd, and at every bawdy laugh or burp or any noise, for that matter, Eugene felt the hairs of his neck rise. His stance became different as well—his shoulders were tensed and his eyes darted throughout the mass of prattling people. Guests quickly made room for this glaring man, sensing the threat as if it were a dense, pungent odor.

Not that his wife was any better. _She_ looked just about ready to kill somebody.

"Rapunzel, can you at least smile a bit?"

"Only if you want me to show my fangs."

"Ah—probably not then."

They made it to the antechamber of the dinning hall and Eugene relaxed a fraction. He turned to smile slightly at his family.

"Think King Dally will be upset that we left early?"

His wife rolled her eyes, "It's King _Dalen_, Eugene. But I think he'd understand."

"It's not as if your father likes him." He shrugged.

"Shhh." There was a group of people coming from around the corner of the hallway. Most of them were pretty, giggling young ladies, but they all huddled around a skinny, cheerful-looking fellow wearing a crown of Salisbury upon his head. The group stopped in front of them, and the young man frowned.

"Are you leaving, sir?"

"We are, your Highness." Even Eugene could recognize a prince of Salisbury when he saw him—there were portraits of them all over the walls.

He smiled, "Very well. Let me go inform Father—I mean, his Majesty about it. What's your name?"

Eugene bowed, "I am Eugene, Prince Consort of Corona. This is my wife, Princess Rapunzel, and our children."

Rapunzel curtsied, as did Annabelle. Thomas merely scuffed at the floor and Ginger was quiet.

"Good to meet all of you. I'll be back to escort you to the door."

"Clyde, don't you mean _we'll_ be back?" One of the ladies hanging onto his arm looked up at him mischievously.

"You and the rest I suppose? All right." The prince of Salisbury smirked and went back into the dinning hall, his fan club providing a buffer between him and the rest of the guests.

"I like him." Eugene said, grinning at his wife. "I can't explain why but—I like him."

"We'll invite him back to Corona sometime and the two of you can go fishing." She replied, leaning against the wall to lift her left foot out of her slipper. Evidently she was getting tired of wearing shoes.

He laughed dryly, "Ha ha. You know I don't like fishing."

"I like fishing." Thomas brightened.

Eugene groaned, "Yes, and I've never understood it. What's so exciting about watching a little bobber?"

"What's so exciting about sitting at a desk reading papers all day?" His son said back, coming over to give his father an expression he _knew_ he had learned from him.

"That's work, not pleasure."

"Oh."

A rather loud sound came from the dinning hall, and Eugene whirled around, shoving Thomas behind his back.

"Out of my way!" A deep voice bellowed to a chorus of gasps and indignant grunts.

Whoever it was sounded livid. This could not be good.

Before Eugene could do anything, however, a figure emerged from the dinning hall. It was a tall, red-faced man with many military badges pinned to his jacket front. He spotted Eugene immediately and made his way over, glaring.

"Did your son beat up my kids?" He barked, giving Eugene a full waft of alcohol-laden breath.

Coughing slightly, Eugene nodded, "I'm afraid so."

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Cassley asked, his yellow eyes burning in anger.

"Apologize." Eugene replied, trying to keep calm. "Thomas—apologize."

Trembling, Thomas stepped out from behind his father and said quietly, "I'm sorry, sir."

The man nodded at him, a slow, rather unkind grin spreading across his face. "_Sorry_, are you, boy? Sorry for what you did to my sons?"

Thomas took a deep breath and nodded bravely, "Yes sir."

"Aw, isn't that just _cute_?" Cassley asked sarcastically, turning to look at Eugene. "You've taught your kid manners."

He met the man's wild gaze, replying, "Yes, and he apologized. And _I_ apologize for what happened."

"Is that it, then? You just have him say 'sawey' and leave it at that? What about disciplining your son?" Cassley leered at him.

"I'll take care of it when we get home." He said solemnly.

"Oh," he let out a rather cruel laugh, "I think you'd better deal with it now. 'Cause someone else might decide to take him to hand for you."

"Thomas, go to your mother."

"But Da-."

Eugene shook his head, "Go."

Cassley sneered as the boy left, remarking, "I know your type. You're one of those parents who haven't seen a _lick_ of the real world. You don't know what it means to truly raise a child. You don't understand what's needed!"

There were several shocked whispers from inside the banquet hall. People were starting to take notice.

Eugene sighed, trying to keep his rising temper under control. The man before him was huge—it would not be healthy to get into fisticuffs with him. But he was threatening his son. He was threatening his _family_.

"Please sir, don't make a scene." Eugene muttered, averting his gaze as Cassley proceeded to roar at him again.

"Make a scene? Your jerk of a kid made a scene when he knocked Marvin unconscious!"

"He didn't knock him unconscious."

"How do you know? Is the boy too _precious_ to do something like that?" He drawled, towering over Eugene and puffing hot, smelly breath into his face.

"I know because I was there, sir. I saw what happened. And I am sorry." The prince consort said through gritted teeth. "Maybe you should ask your own so-."

Cassley shook his head, howling, "Don't you dare bring my sons into this! They're the victims of your little runt!"

"Sir, please stop."

"You're too afraid—is that it? Too afraid to show what a _real_ man does when his family is threatened?"

Eugene remained silent, his face set in an expression of grim acceptance. A few tense seconds passed before the other man spoke again.

"Yeah, that's it!" Cassley laughed, nodding his head. "Don't answer. Don't reveal what you really are—_coward_."

There was a yell of rage behind them, and Eugene turned away, shouting, "No Thomas!"

Suddenly, something solid and heavy slammed painfully into his jaw, snapping his head back with the sound that echoed around the room. Eugene staggered from the blow, dropping to his knees as a frenzied whine echoed in his ears. His face was throbbing, and he could taste blood where his teeth had accidentally cut into the side of his mouth.

Eugene looked up, his heart pounding as an eruption of pent-up furor released in his chest. The thief inside him immediately suggested the knife hidden at his back. A second after being punched, he had already started to reach for the weapon instinctively.

But then he saw his family.

His daughters were standing by the wall, white-faced and eyes full of tears. His wife, meanwhile, had a hold on Thomas and was trying her hardest to keep him from launching himself at the large man hunkering over his father. His son had a look of utmost hatred in his eyes. He was shouting something.

And in that instant, Eugene knew he could not fight back. Not now. Not when they were here. Never when they were here.

He slowly got to his feet, listening to the heaving pants of Cassley. Apparently that punch had taken a lot out of him. Not that the alcohol helped, either.

His jaw burning like mad, Eugene met the man's fire-filled, satisfied eyes.

"Goodnight, sir." He said coolly, bowing to him.

Cassley's eyes widened, and his face grew, if possible, even more ruddy with anger. He let out a growl, raising his fist again, when a loud "Oy!" came from behind him and someone jumped onto his back.

Eugene watched in amazement as Prince Clyde of Salisbury locked his arms around Cassley's neck. He struggled against him, and Clyde looked over to where his guards were standing in dumb shock.

"Hey—you with the pots on your heads!" He ordered, avoiding a swinging fist, "Get over here and help your prince!"

The soldiers ran over and helped subdue the fuming Sir Cassley. Eugene stepped away from the groaning men only to feel several someones plowing into him.

"Eugene! Are you all right?" Rapunzel asked, gazing up at her husband.

Her children latched themselves onto their father, his youngest sobbing, his son vowing revenge, and his eldest just holding onto his arm for dear life.

"Guys—let go, please!" His children obeyed. His wife did not.

Clyde detached himself from the pile of men holding down an infuriated Cassley. He wiped at his forehead, walking over to the royal family of Corona.

"I am _so_ sorry that happened. We've been trying to kick Cassley out of the royal court for weeks ever since he started going a little-," he made a face, "-you know."

Eugene smiled uncertainly, "No—it's okay. It's very much okay."

Clyde held out his hands, "Do you need anything? I know this has just probably ruined your night and if there is anything we can do-."

"Thank you, your Highness. I think I have all I need right here." He put an arm around his wife and took Ginger's hand.

"Very well. I'll be with you again in just a second. Let me go deal with _him_ over there." He nodded tiredly at Cassley and his soldiers.

There was a slight interlude during which Clyde had his knight sent to the dungeons to sober up and Rapunzel examined her husband's face—despite his pleas to the contrary.

"Just hold still—I'm making sure he didn't break your jaw."

"Rapunzel, stop poking my face. It hurts enough already."

She ignored him, and continued to gently prod at his chin even as he strained to get away. Their children remained close beside them, Ginger still clinging to her father's hand while Annabelle sat on Eugene's other side. Thomas, after withdrawing his slingshot from who knows where, stood guard, glaring at everyone who bothered to approach.

For an audience had gathered, just inside the doorway to the banquet hall. They were all discussing what had just happened—and many of them agreed that it was far more exciting than the knighting ceremony. Even the prince's group of girls were hovering about, fanning themselves and verbally abusing Sir Cassley for trying to strike 'Charming Prince Clyde'.

Eventually, this charming prince returned and graciously held out his arm to Rapunzel.

"I will now escort you and your family to the coach, Princess Rapunzel. It is the least I can do."

"Thank you, your Highness." Though she was still worried about her husband, Rapunzel knew that certain customs had to be observed. She allowed herself to be escorted back to the entrance hall while Eugene and their children followed.

It was still raining outside. Eugene made sure his wife and children were safely in the coach before coming out to say goodbye to the prince.

"Thank you for everything, your Highness." He said, starting to bow to him.

However, Clyde held out hand, "Handshake, sir. We're equals."

Eugene grinned and shook the younger man's hand, "Thank you."

The prince grimaced, "About Cassely—well—I can't say I'm sorry enough. We'll probably send you a letter of apology in a few days. We'll even send you a muffin basket—I'll have our chef whip something up-."

"No!" Eugene blurted, remembering the awful food at the reception.

Clyde frowned.

He grinned again, "I mean, we wouldn't want you to go through all that trouble, your Highness. Besides, your people will probably be cursing my name by the time I'm gone."

The prince shook his head, smirking, "Oh, I don't think so. We Salisburians are a weird sort of people. We like danger—which can be a bad thing but in this case—you'll most likely go down as a hero. After all, no one ever really liked Cassley."

"Thank you again. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir."

Eugene then climbed into the coach, shutting the door against the storm and Salisbury.

* * *

For most of the two-hour ride back—weather made traveling difficult and longer—the inside of the coach was very quiet. No one seemed willing to speak, instead choosing to just gaze at each other, wide-eyed and still astonished. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Not to them. Not like _that_.

Finally, the weariness of the trip, the stress of what had occured, and the lateness of the hour all caught up to the children. One by one, they all fell asleep in the carriage as it was rocked by wind and storm.

Eugene looked up from where Annabelle was sitting next to him, his jacket still wrapped about her. The girl had her arm hooked in his and her head resting on his shoulder while she slept. She had not let go of him ever since they had left Salisbury. Across from them, his wife sat with Ginger and Thomas on either side. Both kids were exhausted, with the little girl curled up on the seat and her brother propped against the side of the coach. Rapunzel quietly smoothed her daughter's hair as Thomas snored.

She raised her head to see her husband, and they locked eyes in the silence.

"How's your face?" Rapunzel whispered.

Eugene winced, "I think he _did_ break my jaw."

"Thank you for not breaking his."

He shook his head, "I would've broken more than a jaw, trust me."

"Well if I had my frying pan I would have-."

"I know you would. That's why I couldn't fight back because there was too much at stake. I didn't want any of you involved."

Rapunzel shut her eyes, "I know. But when he hit you—I felt as if _I_ had been hit. I hate that feeling."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. You didn't even want to go to the stupid knighting ceremony in the first place. I'm sorry I didn't listen."

"It's not your fault. You didn't know any of this would happen." Eugene said quickly.

She sighed, "But it _did_ happen, Eugene. I've been princess for all these years now and stuff like this is still happening."

"Well, look who you married," he grinned slightly. "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if the old 'none of this would have happened if she hadn't married that disgusting thief' pops up back in Salisbury."

Rapunzel looked around at her sleeping children, her heart in her eyes, "None of this _would_ have happened."

"Yeah." Eugene felt Annabelle grip his arm tighter in her sleep.

"But I'm glad it did." She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

* * *

Upon reaching the doors of the palace, the prince consort and princess picked up their children and took them to bed. They had to make two trips, with Rapunzel carrying Ginger while her husband took Thomas for the first trip, and then Eugene holding Annabelle for the last. Somehow, they managed to get each child into their pajamas and slipped them under the bed covers. Then, wearily, the two parents walked to their room, hand in hand.

Rapunzel kicked her shoes away and turned her back to her husband.

"Can you help me with the buttons, Eugene?"

He yawned and complied, barely keeping his eyes open. Holding up the front of her dress, Rapunzel rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thanks."

He nodded sleepily as she headed towards their closet to change into her silky nightgown.

Eugene tore off his cravat and chucked it into a corner of the chamber. He groaned and began to stumble to his bed, unbuttoning his vest as he went. He tossed that onto the floor and got halfway down his shirt before giving up and collapsing onto the neatly made bed.

"At least take your shoes off, dear." Rapunzel pleaded from the closet. There were two particularly loud 'thunks' when he let his boots slide off onto the floor.

Eventually, he felt the mattress shift some as his wife lay down beside him.

"You've still got your knife strapped to you."

He moaned, but made no attempt to remove the sheathed weapon. Rapunzel unbuckled the straps for him and set the knife on the bedside dresser. Then she reached out her hand and stroked his hair and neck. She was very good at doing that, he mused. Her fingers were soft yet firm, and each movement felt like perfection itself.

"I never knew you would be such an amazing father." She whispered, moving from his neck to his shoulders. It was a few seconds before he responded—apparently Eugene liked having his back rubbed.

"Yeah, well—you don't really know-," he groaned finally, rolling over to face her, "-how good you're going to be until you actually do it."

"How did I ever find you?"

"Because I'm too greedy for my own good."

She laughed and blew out the candle. Then, in the darkness she moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and nuzzling his neck. It was a close, quiet embrace—a trusting one.

"Eugene Fitzherbert?" Rapunzel whispered into his ear, her breath warm against his skin.

Her husband murmured, "Hmmm?"

"I love you."


	9. Dishwashing discussion

**Author Note**: Okay, after THIS one I'll go back to the uncles :D hahaha hope you enjoy it! :D thanks for reading and reviewing, you guys are awesome :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Thomas glanced up at his father, studying the man's familiar features—his strong forehead, thoughtful eyes, impressively defined nose, and that small patch of beard on his chin. But what captivated his son's attention this morning, however, was not Eugene's handsome face. It was the raw, ugly bruise purpling under the right side of his jaw.

Then, suddenly, there was a clatter of plates as Eugene pulled a soapy dish out of the sink, wiped it with a towel, and set it on a rack to dry. Thomas quickly turned his eyes away from his father, hoping that he had not seen him looking.

Both Fitzherbert men were standing, side-by-side with shirtsleeves rolled up, behind the sinks of the palace kitchens. The younger was perched on a stool for easier access to his task, and he also bore some scratches and bruises from a fight he had participated in the night before. As his punishment for the fight, he was to wash the breakfast dishes while bright, morning sunlight streamed in from the windows set above him.

During the first several minutes of his punishment, Thomas had been left alone by the kitchen staff. As they cleaned up and readied for lunch, Chef Arnold made sure that his workers steered clear of their prince, only coming close to lay dishes into the sink. It was miserable work, scrubbing crumbs and stains with only a sponge and hot, sudsy water for company. He could hear the voices of the kitchen workers—many of them he knew—and found himself feeling very lonely.

But then, his father had come in, donned an apron, and had joined him at his task.

He had done it without speaking, and the silence between them stretched on as the rest of the kitchen staff finished preparing for lunch. Then the workers departed, leaving the long chamber empty of anyone else except their prince consort and his son.

Finally, unable to stand the quietness any longer, Thomas asked, "Um—Dad?"

Eugene wiped at a spot on his daughter's cereal bowl, muttering, "Yes, Thomas?"

His son set a plate onto the rack and asked, "I'm washing dishes for disobeying you, right?"

"Yes, you are."

"Then why are _you_ washing dishes?"

The prince consort rinsed out a glass, sighing, "Well, I decided that you shouldn't be _completely_ punished for what happened last night. After all-," he set the glass on the rack, "-you weren't the only one at fault."

"Oh." Thomas rubbed at the remains of scrambled eggs, trying to understand what his father had told him.

Eugene held out another glass, "Switch with you?"

He nodded, allowing his father to tackle the hardy scum on the plate while he simply ducked the cup under the suds and dumped it out. Eugene put the clean plate onto the rack, watching the boy beside him struggle with what he had just said. The concentration created the same wrinkle in Thomas's forehead that his mother often had upon serious pondering. It must have been the mark of royalty—this wise, firm crease of thought—because the king also shared the trait.

But Thomas was not a king, at that moment. He was a very confused boy, and his father needed to explain a few things.

Eugene smiled slightly, "Why did you fight those boys, Thomas?"

He shrugged, "They were picking on Gin'."

"So they were hurting someone you cared about, and you chose to retaliate, right?"

"What does 'retaliate' mean?" Thomas frowned.

"It means to fight back—to respond."

He nodded, "Yeah. I retaliated."

Eugene took up another dish and ran his sponge across it, continuing, "So you retaliated because you wanted to protect your sister. You did not think it was right for those kids to be mean to Ginger-snap, and you wanted to defend her."

It was a statement, not a question, so Thomas did not answer.

"That was a good thing to do, Thomas."

His son looked at him, "I thought you said it was wrong to fight?"

He nodded, "I did, and fighting is still bad. Even when you wanted to protect Ginger, finding those boys and fighting them was the wrong solution. But being angry—being upset about them attacking Ginger—that I have no problem with."

"You don't?"

"Not at all. As the men of this family we should want to protect our sisters, mother, daughters and wife. It's a natural instinct because we love them."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it _love_…" Thomas mumbled, not seeing the faint smirk crossing his father's face.

"Okay. But you still cared, didn't you? It made you mad."

"Yeah, I guess."

Eugene pulled out a large frying pan from the water, grinned slightly, and proceeded to wash it. After setting it into the rack, he glanced down at his son.

"Well then, I'm going to tell you something else, Thomas. Something you should keep in mind the next time someone tries to hurt one of your sisters."

"All right."

His father dried his hands on his apron and gently turned his son towards him, leaning down to gaze right into his eyes. His voice a mere whisper, Eugene said, "Sometimes, not fighting, is the best way you can protect them."

Thomas scratched his head, leaving soapsuds in his hair, "But—how?"

"Because if you don't pick the fight, then there won't _be_ a fight."

"I still don't get it."

"Hold on for a second." Eugene grabbed a stool resting under a nearby table and brought it over. He then picked his son up and set him upon the counter before sitting on the stool. They were now face-to-face.

Eugene smiled, "Okay, Thomas, let me explain it to you this way. I'm not saying that if someone is literally hurting your sisters that you don't do anything about it. Matter of fact, if anything like that happens, I want you to attack the person with all you've got and shout my name the entire time so I can come help. But what I _am_ saying is that if someone threatens you or them, and then walks away or just keeps threatening, you never make the first move. You should try to not actually _start_ the fight, Thomas. That way, if your sisters or someone else you care about is around, they will not be in danger of getting hurt."

"Is that why you let that man punch you?"

"Well-," Eugene gingerly felt the bruise under his chin, "-I wasn't really expecting that. But I turned away because I knew you were coming and I didn't want you to get involved. Then he punched me."

Thomas shook his head, "But you didn't fight him. You just stood up and told him 'goodnight'."

"Exactly. And don't think that I didn't want to strike him down because let me tell you, my jaw _hurt_. It still hurts. But what would have hurt more was if I started fighting and somehow you or your sisters or—God forbid—your _mother_, had gotten within range of that man's fists. I would much rather have been beaten into a pulp than any of you getting hit."

"But—but he called you a coward and he punched you." His son's eyes narrowed, and his small, soapy hands balled into fists.

"He did. But cruel words and slight pain is _nothing_ compared to how much I love you and the rest of our family. The thing is, Thomas, is that you have to be careful with how you react to certain situations. You need to ask yourself, first of all, if what you are doing is right. Then secondly, you need to make sure—make quite sure—that no one you love will get hurt. And at last, thirdly-," Eugene wiped the suds out of his son's hair, finishing softly, "-you need to think about what _you_ getting hurt would do to those who love you."

"I have to think about all that?"

Eugene nodded, "Yes. It's important."

Thomas sighed, "But Dad, that's an awful lot of-."

"Hey-," his father interrupted, "-life isn't easy. And as much as I want to shield you from everything evil in this world, I know that eventually you'll have to stand up and face it alone. You've already learned several lessons, Thomas, but there will be many, many more to come."

"How many more?"

He leaned back in his seat, answering: "Tons. Sometimes they'll repeat because you didn't understand it the first go through. But it's part of growing up, Thomas, and you can do it. I'll help you."

Thomas gazed at his father, the wrinkle appearing across his forehead again. Eugene smiled, "Do you understand?"

"Kind-of."

"Okay." He stood up and took his son down from the counter, setting him back onto the stool by the sink. "Let's finish up these dishes and then we can go outside and wrestle under the sunshine."

The boy's eyes lit up in excitement, "Really?"

Eugene nodded, "Absolutely. I can teach you some of the best ways to pin a full-grown man. Truth be told, there are seven really good ways, but the best ones are so rare that many outsiders do not see them. They're secret methods, and I can only trust them to you."

Thomas grinned broadly, "Oh, you can trust me."

"I highly doubt that." Eugene smirked, thrusting his arms back into the warm water.


	10. A quiet night in Corona

**Author Note**: GarvinMark is happy :D sorry, Facebook is getting to me :D hahaha anyhoo, just dropping off another bit of the life of our favorite thief and princess :) oh, and I also found this AMAZING (or at least I think it is) video on youtube featuring Tangled. It sums up the movie quite well and the song is catchy :) it's called 'Tangled - The cave' and I highly suggest watching it at least once-it made me want to watch the movie again sooo badly... but then again most things seem to do that these days. Anyway, I'll stop rambling long enough to say thanks for reading and reviewing! hope you enjoy this! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

It was quiet, that night in Corona. Last month had been a different story. For that had been the month Princess Rapunzel and her husband had welcomed their third child into the world. The citizens were pleased and joyful, and a festival was held in celebration for the little girl's birth. It had been a wonderful occasion full of food, dancing, laughter, music, and everything else that could possibly be thought appropriate. Days afterward, people were still talking about the beautiful firework displays that had turned the black sky into a stunning blaze of colors. But, life had returned back to normal, as it always did, and now it was another quiet night in Corona.

With the exception of the royal bedroom, of course.

Rapunzel lay in bed, listening as her daughter wailed loudly in the dark room. She sighed, feeling her heart ache with every noise of intense displeasure. The baby girl was rather vocal about her unhappiness—even more so than her brother had been and Rapunzel remembered _that_ all too well. But in her younger daughter's crying there were complaints and almost an accusation of betrayal within every howl. She had to do something.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel nudged her husband.

He groaned and mumbled, "What?"

"Ginger's crying."

He sighed, "I know. Maybe she'll stop."

"She's been crying for the past several minutes."

Rapunzel felt him set his head in the crook of her neck, moaning. He clearly did not want to get up.

"I'll take care of it, dear."

"You sure?" He sounded on the edge of sleep.

"Yes. Besides," she carefully slid out from under his arm, "it's not like _you_ can feed her, anyway."

Her husband did not respond, and Rapunzel could have sworn that he was snoring as soon as she left the bed.

She quietly stole over to the cradle and reached in to pick up her fussing baby.

"Ginger—shhh." She smiled at the comfortable weight in her arms. "Are you hungry?"

But the little girl was not hungry. Nor was she wet, nor did she need to be burped. Yet she still cried.

"Ginger… what's wrong?" Rapunzel held her daughter, feeling her wriggle unhappily in her blanket wrappings.

"Maybe she's so tired she can't sleep." Eugene suggested wearily from the bed.

His wife shook her head, "That can't be it—none of the other children had that problem."

"Rapunzel, each kid is different."

"I know that but—wait."

There was a muffled noise, and Eugene lifted his bleary eyes to see Rapunzel pulling on her bathrobe.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking Ginger outside. Sometimes-," she took up her crying baby, "-a different atmosphere is what's needed."

"It's cold outside." Her husband pointed out.

"I know. I won't be long."

Rapunzel pressed down on the latch of the glass doors and walked carefully out into the night.

Wind that smelled of the sea and cold rustled the skirt of her bathrobe and blew through her short-cropped hair. It was a strong breeze, but it softened slightly as she began to trot—barefoot, of course—over the smooth stone floor of the balcony. She could hear the ocean waves crashing on the quay, and the soft tolling bell at the guardhouse. But cutting, hard and clear, came the unhappy crying of the child in her arms.

"Ginger, dear girl, it's okay. I'm here. You're all right." Rapunzel whispered tenderly, rocking back and forth in time with the forlorn tolling of the guardhouse bell.

Her daughter continued to whimper, and Rapunzel gently caressed her tearstained cheek.

"Have you ever seen such a night, Ginger?" She smiled, "Probably not. But if you look up at the sky—you can see how beautiful it is."

Both turned their green eyes up to the star-sprinkled heavens. The world above was of a deep, ancient blue, seemingly as endless and profound as the ocean rolling underneath. Due to a passing storm, there was slight overcast. Some of the thicker clouds had wrapped about the moon, shutting out her white brilliance. But the stars, millions of them, glinted brightly upon the elegant swoops and curves of the skies.

They were tiny pinpricks of fire burning miles and miles away. Yet somehow they made the night seem less dark, mocking the vast gulf that separated them from the earth. There was triumph in the way they blazed together, showering light and trying to pierce through the distance to reach the land below them. It was as if they sought to give beauty and meaning to the ponderous lives of man and beast. The stars wanted to reveal the opposite side of eternity and make people question, wonder, and dream for something greater than themselves.

Rapunzel whispered to her daughter, still gazing at the night sky, "It's an amazing thing, Ginger. There's still so much of the world we don't understand. But it's there—it's just waiting for someone to be brave enough and curious enough to try."

Ginger had stopped crying by now, though her face was still wet. She looked up at her mother, and beyond at the starry sky she spoke about.

"The moon's not out—she's still asleep beneath the clouds. But there are many other people out tonight. See those three stars lined up, right there?" She raised her hand and traced the thin column in the sky. "That's the belt of Orion the Hunter—he's always been my favorite. And then those—those make up Cetus, a creature that dwells deep within the sea. There's also Draco the Dragon who flies around the mountains. And Perseus the hero—and even a gold fish named Dorado. Hopefully he doesn't live with Cetus because while sea monsters can be courteous, they like their space.

"And they all move, Ginger. They never remain in the same place but always shift with the turning of the earth. Sometimes you can't find them up there, and when you do it's like meeting an old friend again. Then it's as if life is better, somehow. It makes you look up and see how much is out there—but it also makes you remember all that you do have, and be happy with it all. It truly is amazing."

Slowly, the clouds parted and the moon reclaimed her place as queen of the night. Her glow radiated, joining with that of the stars and illuminating the quiet darkness. She was in the full part of her cycle, round and lovely.

Then Rapunzel noticed a faint red star flaring at the corner of her vision. She frowned, "I don't remember that one. I suppose I'll have to look it up later, Ginger dear."

The princess looked down at her daughter and saw she had fallen asleep. Rapunzel smiled.

"I told him all we needed was a new atmosphere. It _is_ cold out, though. We probably should get inside."

Rapunzel entered the bedroom and returned Ginger to her cradle, carefully laying her down. Tiptoeing, she quietly slipped back into bed and listened to her husband snoring beside her.

Abruptly the snoring stopped, and Eugene asked drowsily, "Rapunzel?"

"Yes dear?"

"Your feet are freezing."

Smirking slightly, Rapunzel reached underneath his shirt and set her cold hands on his warm back.

Eugene gasped and stiffened. Crossly, he muttered, "That was mean."

"I know, dear." She hugged him. "That's why I did it."

"Managed to get little Ginger-snap settled for her siesta, I hear."

"Yes. We had a very good talk."

"Meaning you talked and she fell asleep?" There was a distinct hint of amusement in his voice.

Rapunzel poked him, ordering, "Go to sleep, Eugene."

"Keep talking and I might."

She punched his shoulder, but his response was far from satisfactory.

"There's a tiny fist hitting me. What will I do now?"

She hit harder.

"Ouch. Rapunzel that _hurt_."

"Good." His wife replied smugly.

Eugene grunted, "Okay, you win. Goodnight, your Highness."

"Goodnight, Mr. Fitzherbert." She set her head against his back, closing her eyes and falling asleep to the familiar, comforting sound of his low breathing.


	11. Day spent with the grandkids 1

**Author Note**: Sorry for not posting regularly-I've got school up to my eyeballs right now along with a bit of writer's block! O.O but I'm going to go ahead and put this down here for now and make what was supposed to be a one-shot into a two-shot :D thanks for reading and reviewing and being patient, you guys are awesome :D hope you enjoy this bit!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Dreamworks owns How to Train your Dragon, and Disney owns the Princess and the Frog (there are allusions) :)

* * *

It was quite dark outside when the princess and prince consort of Corona clambered into their coach and prepared for the lengthy ride back home. They had left their island city to attend the engagement party of Prince Clyde of Salisbury. The party was wonderful, full of food—catered by someone other than the royal chefs—dancing, music, speechmaking, and many conversations. It had been a fun night and a grand celebration of the future union of two friends. But it had also been a night that had long since disappeared into the early, wee hours of the next morning.

"I seriously think my feet have swollen." Rapunzel muttered, slipping off her shoes and frowning at her pinched toes.

Her husband yawned as he loosened his cravat, "Well, honey, you certainly danced a lot."

"Yes but now my feet hurt so much I've grown to hate these shoes."

"Okay—get rid of them, then."

She glared sternly at the shoes in her hands, "Maybe I will."

"Do what you want, dear."

After a second's hesitation, Rapunzel opened the coach window and lightly tossed her shoes outside. There was a soft 'plop' as they landed in the ditch.

Eugene frowned, "Did you just throw your shoes out the window?"

His wife looked at him archly, "Give me that cravat and I'll do the same for you."

Eugene's eyes widened, and he tore the cravat from his throat, murmuring: "Yes _ma'am_."

He watched as she launched the cravat into the darkness. A wide smirk appeared on his face, and he asked, "You want anything else?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm offering." Eugene gestured at himself, his eyebrows dancing with suggestion.

Rapunzel rolled her eyes and snorted, "I'm not going to litter the path to Corona with men's party garments, Eugene."

"Very well. But would you like to sit next to me, dear girl of mine?"

"It _is_ cold." She moved next to her husband, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"That was some party." Eugene remarked.

His wife nodded, "Clyde's friends and servants did a great job. It was a lot of fun."

"Did you _see_ the chocolate fountain?" He asked dramatically. "It was huge! Why didn't we have a chocolate fountain at our engagement party?"

Rapunzel smiled, "Do you really care that much about a chocolate fountain?"

"Now I do. Those marshmallows were the size of racquet balls, by the way."

"Yet you managed to eat about fifteen of them."

He shrugged, "Hey, never let free food go to waste."

"Nice excuse." She patted his stomach, "You might want to lay off the desserts, though or you won't fit in that new suit I got you for your birthday."

"Doesn't telling someone what you got them for your birthday before their birthday kind-of ruin the surprise?"

"Not if that someone has already been sneaking around the palace for the past week trying to find his present." Rapunzel smirked.

Eugene cleared his throat guiltily, "Oh—you found out about that?"

"Yes, dear, you're about as transparent as glass. But good news is you haven't _really_ found out what I got you."

"It's not a suit?"

"Not entirely." Rapunzel muttered, yawning.

He frowned, "Well, then what is it?"

"Just wait and see. Now, Eugene, please stop talking so I can sleep."

* * *

Upon arriving back at the palace, the royal couple immediately went to bed and slept for a blissful five hours. They were working on a sixth hour when it was rather rudely interrupted.

The curtains of their windows were thrust aside, letting blinding morning sunlight into the room. Eugene shut his eyes tighter, wondering why his wife had decided to wake up. But he could still feel her lying beside him, slumbering peacefully. The hallway door was locked, so none of the servants should be coming to clean. Who could have-?

The mattress shifted as somebody small climbed up into the bed.

"Dad! Wake up! It's morning!" Thomas announced, tugging on the back of his father's shirt.

Eugene groaned and shoved his son away.

"_Dad_! Come _on_! Annie said you guys been sleeping in for almost thirty minutes and it's _Saturday_!"

Eugene shoved a little harder this time, and almost managed to push his son off the bed. Thomas easily latched onto the quilt and hauled himself up again to renew his attempts at rousing his father.

"Mom, make him get up!" Thomas pouted, turning to the bed's other occupant.

Rapunzel was having problems of her own, however, for her youngest daughter had decided to wedge herself between her mother and Eugene.

"Good morning Mommy!" Ginger exclaimed loudly, beaming as her mother rolled over to see her through sleep-bleared eyes.

Rapunzel winced, pleading, "Inside voice, sweetie. Mommy had a late night."

Ginger scooted closer, her tiny bare feet pressing against her father's side as she whispered, "Sorry. Did Clyde like his present?"

"Yes, dear, he did. Tom, stop punching your father."

"But he won't get up!" Thomas complained, sitting on Eugene's back and poking him.

Eugene let out a muffled grunt, stuffing his head under his pillow similar to how an ostrich sticks his head in the sand hoping the enemy will go away. The prince consort seemed to be having about as much success as the ostrich.

"Mom," Annabelle said firmly, standing next to her mother's side of the bed, "I tried to tell them to stop by they wouldn't listen."

"Yeah—she was bossing us around! Dad, tell her not to boss us around!" Thomas nudged his father, who merely let out a plaintive moan.

Rapunzel sunk deeper down under the covers, her hand over her eyes as she muttered, "Thomas, stop annoying your father."

Annabelle glared at Thomas, "I told you they wanted to sleep in, Thomas!" He stuck his tongue out at his sister, blowing a noisy raspberry. She scowled at him and looked again at her mother, crossing her arms. "They never listen to me! Mom, tell them to listen to me!"

"Mommy, why is the sky blue?" Ginger asked, gazing out the windows at the bright blue firmament.

"Eugene," Rapunzel sighed, slapping clumsily at her husband, "do _something_."

Her husband replied hoarsely, "You do something."

"_Please_, Eugene."

With an enormous groan, Eugene sat up, Thomas slipping off his back as he turned to look sternly at his son. Thomas smirked in satisfaction.

"See. Knew you would get up."

His father stared down at him, muttering, "Thomas Eugene Fitzherbert, Ginger Marie Fitzherbert, and Annabelle Catherine Fitzherbert. If any of that sounded like your names, follow me."

Thomas grimaced, "_Eugene_?"

"Now." Eugene growled.

Wordlessly, Annabelle obediently trotted towards the sitting room door. Thomas jumped from the bed and followed her, grumbling darkly. Ginger simply came over to her father and lifted her arms, her big green eyes beseeching.

"Daddy?"

Eugene wearily picked his daughter up and walked out to the sitting room. He set her down next to her siblings and smiled slightly. He looked as if he had a toothache.

"Let's play a game."

"What?" Thomas narrowed his eyes.

Annabelle's forehead wrinkled, "Dad?"

"Okay." Ginger agreed, grinning.

Their father rose to his full height, explaining, "I want you to close your eyes for ten seconds. Okay?"

"This is a weird game." Ginger pointed out, closing her eyes.

Reluctantly, her brother and sister did the same.

Eugene slipped quietly back into his room and shut the door, turning the lock. Fists began to hammer on the door, and not long after came several cries of protest. Eugene ignored the clamor, however, as he yanked the curtains shut again and fell back onto his bed.

Rapunzel took his hand, asking quietly, "Did you lock them out?"

"Yup."

"You're amazing, Eugene."

"Shhh. I'm trying to sleep."

She laughed and rolled over, snuggling into his shoulder as her husband groaned.

A minute later the hammering on their door stopped, and Eugene muttered, "_Why_ did we have kids?"

"Shhh."

"No, seriously-."

"Eugene, I'm going to lock _you_ out if you don't shut up."

"Gotcha."

* * *

The king of Corona sighed while he read the letter one of his nobles, Roderick Macintosh, had sent him. He had been at the paper all morning, seated in his armchair by the fireplace of his sitting room. His wife sat in the chair across from him, humming softly as she sewed. He let out another sigh, hoping she would respond to that one.

"Are you okay, Tommy?" The queen asked, counting stitches.

"No. Rod Macintosh is fussing about his nephew again. Says the boy isn't getting enough training in the guardhouse. He wants me to promote the lad to a keep in one of the little villages."

"How is that a problem?"

Her husband shook his head, replying, "The boy's a nuisance, Cat. The only reason Rod is trying to get him promoted is so _he_ doesn't have to deal with him anymore. Instead, it'll be my job and the task of my officers in Dean."

She neatly threaded a needle and continued to work, suggesting, "Then just suspend Rod's nephew and make his uncle grow a backbone."

There was a silence. The queen looked up to find that her husband was grinning at her.

"What?"

"I love it when you say things like that."

The queen smiled coyly, "Well just don't respond to Rod in those _exact_ words. But Tommy, you've been griping about that letter for the past hour or so. Give it a rest."

"Of course, Cat dear." He set the letter upon his side table and took a sip from his coffee mug.

A moment later, their three grandchildren trooped discontentedly into their midst.

Thomas plopped down on the rug to glare at the empty fireplace. Ginger wandered over to her grandmother and set her head on her knee, sighing. Annabelle pulled up her grandfather's footstool and sat down next to his chair.

The grandparents frowned at each other, and the king nodded slightly, motioning his wife to speak first.

She laid aside her sewing and stroked Ginger's hair, asking, "Are you children having a good morning?"

"Mom and Dad locked us out of their room again." Thomas said, digging a finger into the soot at the bottom of the grate.

Once again, the king and queen exchanged quick glances. Her husband tilted his head, encouraging her to continue.

The queen coughed slightly, "Well, yesterday they had a very long night at the end of a very long week."

"Not _that_ long." Her grandson mumbled grouchily.

"Tom, they came back around three in the morning. They need to sleep. Besides, now it looks like you children get to spend the day with us."

"But we spent last night with you. We haven't seen Dad or Mom in _forever_."

"Dear, don't be so dramatic—and stop sticking your hand in the soot, you'll get your clothes dirty." His grandmother told him absently as Ginger looked up at her.

"What are we going to do, Grandma?"

"Anything you want to do, Ginger dear."

"Well-," her husband laughed a nervous chuckled, "-surely not _anything_ she wants, Cat?"

The queen nodded, replying, "Yes, Tommy. Anything."

He frowned, "But you can't really mean-." He quickly stopped talking at the look she gave him.

Annabelle glanced over at the small piano set against the wall, asking, "Papa, can I play on the piano?"

"Erm—yes dear. Go ahead."

She lightly rose to her feet and took a seat on the piano bench, flipping up the cover on the keys and running a hand across them.

Gradually, quiet piano music began to fill the room. Thomas absently rubbed some soot streaks onto his trousers. Ginger walked over to sit next to her sister at the piano.

The king surveyed his grandchildren, frowning slightly. He looked at his wife.

"Cat, can I see you out in the hall for a moment?"

She nodded and followed him into the hallway outside their sitting room.

He whispered, "What are we going to do all day to keep them entertained?"

His wife shook her head, biting her lip, "I don't know—we did everything we could think of last night. Besides, Tommy, you have work-."

"It's work that can be pushed to Monday. But I still don't know what their parents were thinking…"

She shrugged, "They were probably thinking 'why on earth did we have children?' You know how hard they've been working this week and that engagement party at Salisbury probably did them in. Poor dears deserve a rest."

The king rolled his eyes, "I'm not saying that they don't but Cat—what good can we do?"

"We've spent time with them before, we'll think of something. Wait-," she snapped her fingers, "-do you still have that box of toy soldiers you and your cousin played with all the time?"

He looked affronted, "Those were not '_toys_' they were miniature replicas of the Battle of 1703 after the Midlands Revolt."

The queen snorted, "Whatever. All I remember is that you and Freddy were making all sorts of weird noises and throwing those tin soldiers at each other. I mean—you were a grown man and-."

"That was before I met you."

"I knew you then." She corrected pointedly.

"Well—before I cared what you thought."

She smiled, "Ah, I see. Anyway, go find those and maybe you can entertain Tom with them. I'll go get my bead set—Ginger always enjoys playing with that."

Her husband nodded, "Okay, but what about Annie?"

"She has her piano and her thoughts. She'll be fine."

"She _is_ like you."

"Yes dear, I know. Now go find your toy soldiers."

He began to protest, "They are minia-."

"I know." She said dismissively over her shoulder as she headed towards their bedroom.

The king smirked, but then narrowed his eyes in puzzlement.

"Where _did_ Freddy hide that box, anyway?"

* * *

When the queen returned, she found her husband sitting on the floor before one of the large windows. He had tossed his royal robe and crown into his armchair, had his shirtsleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, and his face set in concentration. He was staring at the board in front of him, tugging thoughtfully at his beard while his grandson sat in the exact same position on the other side of the board.

This board was a flat piece of wood painted to resemble a hilly landscape. Tin soldiers—brightly painted and slightly battered—dotted the hillocks and valleys of the board. There were cavalry, infantrymen, cannon workers, as well as a medical tent and a general upon his white steed. They were also split equally up into teams—red versus blue.

Thomas reached out a hand and pushed one of the blue cannons closer to his grandfather's medical tent.

He shook his head, "You can't do that, Tom. It's not gentlemanlike to fire upon a medical tent."

"I want to make sure none of your men can retreat, right?"

"Well—I suppose so."

Thomas grinned at him, "Then who cares about being a gentleman?"

The queen smiled and came over to her granddaughters. Annabelle was patiently trying to teach her sister how to play a simple melody on the piano.

"Just these five keys, Ginger. You have to press them like this-," she played a slow, familiar tune on the piano.

Ginger reached out her hand and copied—going slower and more uncertainly than Annabelle had done.

Her sister beamed, "See, you've got it. You could play piano if you really wanted."

The little girl shook her head, "Nah. Uncle Al said he'd teach me the violin."

"Albert is going to help you learn to play violin?" The queen asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yep." Suddenly Ginger noticed the box her grandmother held in her arms. Her eyes widened, and she asked, "Grandma—is that your bead box?"

"Yes dear. Would you like to help me pick out some beads for a necklace?"

"Can I?" She asked, sounding as though she hardly believed it.

"I would love it if you would." The queen said, taking a seat on the floor beside her chair and opening the box.

Ginger eagerly plopped herself down next to her grandmother, gazing at the mass of multicolored glass, wooden, and bone beads sitting covering the bottom of the container. She stuck a small hand into the beads and selected one. Then another one. Then one more after that.

She carefully set each piece of jewelry on the floor in front of her, forming a neat line. Her grandmother watched her, smiling as she unwound a string from around the spool in her hand. Ginger had always been fascinated by any form of art—just like her mother was. She knew the little girl could spend hours drawing, sculpting, or examining each individual bead for a necklace. It was amazing to see the child's artistic mind at work. The queen held out the piece of string for Ginger to start sliding beads along it, admiring the complex pattern she had created.

Meanwhile, Annabelle moved on to a more complex piece of music, closing her eyes and becoming absorbed into the song. To this background music, the king and his grandson continued to send their troops into battle. The game they played was an old one meant to teach military strategy. Thomas was quite good at it. Eventually, he had successfully beaten his grandfather several times in a row.

"Ha! Beat you again, Papa!" Thomas said triumphantly, lining up his tin soldiers to begin another skirmish.

The king groaned, "I noticed."

His wife came over to them, smiling, "Having fun, dears?"

"It's great, Grandma! I won seven times!" Thomas declared, beaming up at her.

The queen frowned, "You beat your grandfather seven times?"

"He has indeed, Cat. I think I should have paid more attention in my history lessons. This boy's a military genius."

She laid a hand on her husband's shoulder, commenting, "He comes by it naturally."

"My father always was a good strategist." The king muttered thoughtfully.

"I wasn't talking about your father, Tommy. Anyway, hold out your hand. Ginger made you a bracelet."

He did as instructed and allowed her to tie a string of blue and purple beads—all of them bearing the yellow sun crest of Corona—upon his wrist.

"It's very nice. Where is Ginger?"

"She's still working on a necklace for Rapunzel."

Her husband smiled at this mention of his daughter's name, "Good."

"Keep playing with Tom, dear." She said, squeezing his shoulder before returning to her granddaughter.

"All right, Thomas, let me show you how to play this game properly."

"What's that?" Thomas cocked his head in confusion.

The king grinned, "No rules at all."

This rendition of the game was, to say the least, _much_ more fun for both parties. It mainly consisted of a lot of yelling, tossing of tin soldiers, and loud booming noises from the cannons. There were also several brave cavalry charges, a flying general or two, and an invisible dragon.

Raising his arms above his head, the king bellowed, "Beware of the Night Fury! It's the unholy offspring of lighting and Death itself! In the dark night skies, no one can find it! It's almost _invisible_!"

"Papa, we've got to keep it from eating the troops!" Thomas shouted, stuffing soldiers into their box.

"But a mere bunker can't hide them from the glowing green eyes of this monster!" His grandfather said, swooping his hand down and knocking it against the side of the 'bunker'.

"What'd we do? What'd we do?" The boy asked, jumping nervously around.

"There's only one thing we can do."

"What?"

The king set his hand on his chest, declaring solemnly, "I have to sacrifice myself."

"No Papa—don't do it! I'll do it!" Thomas protested, watching his grandfather slowly rose up on one knee.

"They're getting rather dramatic over there, aren't they?" The queen asked her granddaughter as she closed the bead box.

"Grandma can I-?"

"Of course, Ginger dear."

The king knelt, vowing to die for his country, when suddenly a small person drove into his front, knocking him onto the floor.

"NO PAPA!"

"Ginger?"

"Night Fury!" Thomas suddenly launched himself at his sister, rolling off to the side.

"What? No—Tom don't-!"

Annabelle sighed, coming over to stand next to her grandmother. She shook her head as her grandfather chased her two rolling siblings across the floor.

"Why does everyone in my family act like little kids, Grandma?"

"Well, for one thing, Tom and Ginger _are_ children, darling. For another-," her husband managed to capture Ginger and was holding her out of arm's reach of her brother, "-well, let's just say your grandfather has always been young at heart."

"Haha! The Night Fury has been captured and the troops are saved!" The king proclaimed, smiling at his scowling granddaughter.

Ginger took hold of his beard and protested, "Papa I don't want to be the dragon! I wanna be the princess!"

Thomas glared, crossing his arms, "There are no princesses in this game!"

"Ginger, dear—that's attached." The king winced, gently prising her fingers from his whiskers.

"Papa, I wanna be the princess! Tell Tom he needs princesses in the story!"

"It's not a story, Gin'—it's a _game_!"

She stuck her tongue out at him, retorting, "You wouldn't even _be_ in my story if I had one!"

Thomas returned the expression, snapping, "Well you're not going to be in _my_ story!"

"Well you're not going to be-!"

"Children."

All three turned to watch the queen and Annabelle approaching. The woman had a small, calm smile on her face while her granddaughter frowned disapprovingly.

"Ginger dear, let go of your grandfather's beard, please."

"Yes ma'am." She said quietly, releasing her captive. The king breathed a sigh of relief. The girl's grip had gotten tighter and more tugging over the years.

"Now I believe it's time to go get something to eat for lunch. We can have a picnic outside in the gardens. It's a lovely day."

"Really?" Ginger exclaimed, her face breaking out into a wide, gleaming smile.

Thomas glanced up at his grandfather, "Can we go out in the pond, Papa?"

"Erm…"

"Your grandfather would love to take you out to the pond, Tom dear." The queen said easily.

The king shot her a glare, received a sterner one in return, and sighed, "Very well. We'll look for frogs or something."

"I'm going to catch Naveen! He's the fastest frog there—Gardener Lloyd told me that." Thomas pronounced proudly.

His grandmother smiled, "All right. Let's get down to the kitchens. Annabelle, would you like to help me with the food?"

Annabelle smiled, "Sure, Grandma."


	12. Intermission of faces :D

**Author Note**: INTERMISSION! :D Sorry, I will continue with the two-shot, but I wrote this up last night and it's just too cute not to share :D hahaha at least that's what my sister says :D will get back to work on the other stories when I have time-college is throwing three tests at me this week so please pray! :D may you guys have an awesome week-hopefully I'll get back to this story, the uncles, and the romance soon... oh, and just so you know, I've got something BIG planned for the crown prince of Corona :) don't know when I'll have time to work on it, but I think it will be AWESOME fun to write :D Thanks for reading, reviewing, and waiting! :D you guys are great! enjoy the cuteness! :)

*Warning: some implications are in here, but they _are_ married so...*

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"So, Annie's off to her etiquette lessons with your mother—we have the day to ourselves—what do you want to do?"

Rapunzel looked up from where she had been carrying her two month-old son around the bedroom. Her husband smiled at her from where he lay on his stomach, sprawled out amongst the sheets.

"Well, right now I'm taking care of Thomas." She answered, walking in and out of the patches of sun that beamed in from the long windows.

Eugene propped his face up with his hands, watching her walk. "But you can't take care of him forever. What are you going to do afterwards?"

"I think I might take a bath."

"Would you like some company?" He raised his eyebrows.

She shook her head, smiling at the baby in her arms as she replied calmly, "Nope. Last time we tried that you left the water running too long and we flooded the bathroom."

"I won't leave it on too long now."

"No dear."

He sighed and rolled over, gazing up at the ceiling. After a few seconds of silence, he complained, "But I'm bored, Rapunzel."

"Then go do something." His wife said, turning around to see Eugene frowning unhappily.

He raised his arm despairingly above him, asking, "Like what? Any suggestion I've made this morning you've shot down in a heartbeat. I'm caught up on all my work and Annie's doing school and Thomas is barely old enough to do anything. And I'm _so_ bored!"

"Eugene, if you're so bored, then maybe you should get a hobby. What about fishing?"

"I hate fishing." He groaned.

Rapunzel sighed and came over to him, "Well, what do you normally do when you're bored, Eugene?"

"Steal things."

"That's not an option."

"I know." He sat up and turned around to look at her. "But I have a day to spend doing whatever and you don't seem to want to spend it with me."

She shook her head, cradling her son, "It's not that—it's just that I want to have some alone time."

Eugene looked at her.

"_Alone_." Rapunzel said pointedly.

Her husband pouted.

"No, Eugene."

He shrugged, murmuring, "All right. Give me the kid and you can go and have your alone time—_alone_."

"Thanks dear." She gave him their son, kissed his cheek, and then left to go take a bath.

Eugene looked down at the baby in his arms. Thomas was wide-awake this morning, his brown eyes wandering around the room as he took in his surroundings. Eugene smiled and gently rubbed the little boy's soft hair. It was lighter shade of brown than Annabelle's had been—but in time it would probably darken like his had when he was young. He wondered if Thomas would grow up to look like him. Rapunzel already said that their boy resembled his father, but Eugene was not quite sure. Surely his cheeks were not _that_ chubby.

As he studied his son, Eugene frowned in thought. Then he suddenly became aware that Thomas was frowning too—a faint wrinkle appearing on his little forehead. Eugene tilted his head slightly. His son did likewise. Eugene then tilted his head the other way and—still bearing that same frown of concentration—Thomas mimicked him.

Eugene gave a half-grin and was delighted when his son did the same.

"So you want to play the face game, Thomas? Okay."

The prince consort pursed his lips and turned his chin up a bit. Thomas imitated him immediately, his tiny mouth tightening in the exact manner as his father's. Eugene raised his eyebrows and stuck out his lower lip in a pronounced pout. His son did the same—looking expectant. He wanted to see the next face.

Eugene nodded, "All right—those were the easy ones. Now how about some tongue action?"

He stuck out his tongue so that it lay flat against his bottom lip. Thomas performed the expression perfectly, letting out a little drool as he did so.

"Not bad," Eugene complimented, wiping his son's chin, "but what about this one?"

The prince consort blew a raspberry, creating a quiet thrumming within the room. That took Thomas a few seconds' worth of trying before he could repeat it. His raspberry was slightly more bombastic than his father's had been, however. He also seemed to like the noise, because he kept repeating the expression after his initial accomplishment. Eugene rubbed some of the boy's spit off his cheek.

"Nice one, Thomas." He smirked. "I suppose the best person to teach that would be Pascal, though. He's very good at making that face."

His son merely smirked at him in imitation. Eugene laughed, and his son giggled—though he rather suspected that those chuckles had been involuntary.

"Okay—let's see. What would another face be… ah!" Eugene squinted his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and flared his nostrils. Amazingly, Thomas managed to replicate his father's face yet again.

Eugene smiled and poked his son on the nose, earning a giggle, "Good job. That's quite impressive, if I do say so myself."

The prince consort rose to his feet and trotted around the room, trying to think of another face. A slow smile spread across his lips.

"I wonder—have you ever seen your grandfather when he's thinking about something? He pulls this kind-of solemn, ponderous look—dignified, but very stern. Well, you're going to be king one day, Thomas, so I suppose you should be able to do that. Try this one." Eugene frowned somewhat, narrowed his eyes, and snorted.

From his arms came a soft snuffle, and he looked down to see a small expression of majestic concern on his son's face. It actually suited the little boy.

"Next I think we should try a snarl. Not a threatening one, mind. An _attractive_ one." Eugene raised the corner of his upper lip and growled out a low purr. Thomas gurgled in confusion—he could not make that sound.

His father nodded, "Yeah, you'll get that better when your voice has deepened. Or when you actually get a voice. Now—we can try the surprised look-," he widened his eyes and opened his mouth in a perfect 'o'. Thomas did the same. "We could do the angry stare." He scrunched his eyebrows together and glared—his son scowled. "No—that's too mean. How about—hmmm…"

His son stuck out his tongue again, this time reaching out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you want me to follow your lead? Okay." Eugene copied him, and Thomas laughed, switching his tongue to the other side.

His father obliged, and then began to waggle his head from side to side, "Bleahbleahbleah!"

Thomas laughed harder. Then he started to hiccup.

Eugene winced, "Yikes. Okay, buddy, just take a deep breath." He lifted his son up and patted him on the back. Thomas let out a loud burp.

"Now, Thomas, mind your manners." His father remarked teasingly, turning the boy around to show him yet another face.

Wrinkling his fairly extraordinary nose, Eugene closed one eye and gazed imperiously down at his son. Thomas responded identically before breaking out in a big smile of satisfaction.

Eugene laughed.

"Eugene? What are you doing?"

He glanced around to discover that his wife had emerged from the bathroom, holding her robe about her.

"What happened to your bath?"

Rapunzel shook her head, "I forgot something. What—what are you doing with Tom?"

"Er—making faces at him." He grinned proudly, "I actually taught him how to blow a raspberry—look!"

Eugene blew a raspberry and, with a burst of enthusiasm, his son did the same.

His wife rolled her eyes, "Well, as useful as _that_ will be in later life, he needs to go down for his nap."

"But Rapunzel, I'm entertaining him and he's entertaining me. I could do this all day."

"And what other faces will you teach him?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"All kinds. I could teach him my pirate face—or the one I use when I'm imitating that shrill cabbage merchant in the market. I could even do—_wait_…" A slow grin began to form over his face.

"What are you thinking about?"

Eugene looked at his wife, muttering, "Wait a moment. I haven't tried this one out yet. Just wait—you'll love it."

"What are you-?" Her eyes widened. "No! No not that! You are _not_ teaching Thomas the Smolder!"

"Why not? It could be very handy to him one day."

"Eugene he is barely two months old!" Rapunzel protested, setting a hand protectively over her son.

He nodded, "Then I'd better start showing him now or he'll never learn."

"I don't want my baby boy running around and trying to Smolder people into submission!"

"He won't. Probably won't even remember it. Besides, Rapunzel, don't you think it would look absolutely _adorable_?" Eugene smirked. He knew he had her there.

His wife sighed, "All right. Go ahead and ruin him."

"It will be an improvement—not a defect." Eugene responded, turning to look at his son once more.

"Okay, Thomas, this is the best one I know. Made your mom fall in love with me."

There was a snort of derision beside him.

"Well, it didn't hurt."

Rapunzel nudged him in the shoulder, retorting, "Says you. I still think it's silly."

Her husband gave a half-shrug, "Silly or not I'm positive you went limp when you first saw it. Anyway-."

He looked at his son, puckering his lips, narrowing his eyes, raising his eyebrows, and cocking his head slightly. Thomas stared at him, considering the expression. Then he turned _his_ head, lifted _his_ eyebrows, squinted _his_ eyes, and pooched out _his_ mouth. It was a flawless rendition in miniature. It was most certainly the Smolder.

Eugene held up his son's head beside his and looked at his wife, commenting smugly: "Perfect match."

Rapunzel smiled, "Well, at least Tom looks cute. You, on the other hand, still look ridiculous."

"Ridiculously handsome?" He asked hopefully.

His wife's smile broadened, "Sometimes. When you're not doing stupid things to your face."

Eugene nodded, "Very well. I'll go put Thomas down for his nap."

"Then what will you do?"

He shrugged, answering over his shoulder, "Go fishing."

Rapunzel laughed, "I love you, Eugene."

"I know. It's because I Smoldered you into it, right?"

"And you've never stopped."

"Why stop something that works so well?" He smirked, laying his son down into his crib.

"You don't." She fetched a bottle of soap from her dresser.

"Got everything you need?" Eugene asked.

"Yep. Oh, and just so you know-," his wife went back into the bathroom, "-I'm going to leave the door open so it doesn't get too steamy in here."

Eugene looked over at the open door.

Was that an invitation?

He hoped it was.


	13. Day spent with the grandkids 2

**Author Note**: Sorry for not posting. I've had a few tests this week and a good amount of studying to do... nonetheless, I've managed to finish this bit-I'll try to get Tom Sr. and Cat's story rolling again, and I'll figure out what to do for the Uncles... :D it's a problem, but it's a fun problem :D Anyhoo, I hope you all are having a terrific week, yesterday was beautiful day-one of the first warm, sunny days we had on campus in a long time-and I don't think I've been that happy all semester :D 'cept on certain nights after Bible study :D Thank you for reading, reviewing, waiting, and enjoying! :D Now go and enjoy it some more if you think it's worth it! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Disney also owns The Princess and the Frog, and Dreamworks still owns How to Train your Dragon... and I wish I had a Toothless...

* * *

As their grandchildren traipsed ahead of them, the king and queen made their way down to the kitchen. The king rubbed at his sore chin, muttering, "Why does that child have such a fascination with facial hair?"

His wife shrugged, "I'm not sure. Maybe that's why Eugene keeps his so short?"

"Cat, I'm not going to turn my beard into a silly little goatee." He murmured defensively.

"You'd better not. I like it that long. It tickles."

He smirked, "I didn't know that."

"That's because you don't kiss yourself, dear." She reminded him.

Her husband nodded, "Right. Well, at least we finished the game in style."

The queen narrowed her eyes, replying accusatorily, "You only started playing like that so he wouldn't beat you again."

He sniffed indifferently, "It was getting boring so I decided to spice it up a bit."

"Spice it up?"

"Yes. Stop glaring at me like that. Ginger and Tom had fun."

"And you pulled a muscle in your back." His wife noted.

The king frowned indignantly, "I did not."

"You're wincing and groaning."

"Okay, perhaps. But I'm quite all right. I just-," he shrugged slightly and then gasped, "-balderdash that hurt!"

"Hold still." She set the heel of her hand into his back and pressed hard.

The king let out a faint moan, and then a sigh.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you, love."

"You're welcome. Now go take Tom and Ginger outside while I help Annabelle with lunch." She said, stopping at the kitchen door as her husband continued after his younger grandchildren.

"What do you want me to do with them?" He called back.

"Look at the clouds, Tommy. You'll think of something."

* * *

The queen and her granddaughter set about fetching jars of mustard from the shelves, sliced ham fresh from the butcher yard, and bread for sandwiches.

"Don't forget that your grandfather likes lots of mustard with his sandwich." The queen said, grabbing a tin of Chef Arnold's best crackers.

Annabelle swept a liberal amount of mustard over the slice of bread, asking, "Doesn't Papa like pickles too?"

"Yes, but they make him smell like vinegar, so don't give him any."

Her granddaughter nodded, smirking, "Yes ma'am."

"Now, Annabelle dear, what else do you think Tom and Ginger would like with their sandwiches?" The queen asked, packing the tin of crackers into Chef Arnold's second-best picnic basket.

Annabelle glanced over at the pantry door, considering the question. She finished making a sandwich and answered: "I'd say some fruit—Ginger likes strawberries best—and probably orange slices 'cause Papa and Tom stick them in their mouths and make faces with them. That's always funny."

"Yes, your brother and your grandfather _and_ even your father are quite alike in some ways-," her grandmother said, smiling, "-even if Eugene doesn't want to admit it. But they always try to pull every kind of expression imaginable—just to make people happy."

"I remember when Dad did that. Well, he _still_ does that—anytime he and Mom get into a staring contest, he almost always wins by making her laugh." Annabelle's smile widened.

"Yes, and I don't think he ever gets tired of it."

The queen went into the pantry to get a small container of strawberries and oranges. She emerged to find her granddaughter starting on the last sandwich.

"You're very fast at making those, dear." She remarked, taking out a knife and skillfully carving up one of the oranges.

"It's practice. Chef Arnold had me make nothing but sandwiches during the first few lessons he gave me. Then Mom convinced him to let me do other stuff, and I've learned loads." She glanced over at her grandmother, adding, "It's a lot of fun, Grandma. I love cooking."

"That's wonderful, darling. Everyone should find something they love to do and improve on it if they can. Speaking of which, when you have time I'd like to show you a new sewing technique I learned from my friend Henrietta."

"Lady Henrietta?"

"The same. She's the one who came to that tea party we had a few weeks ago."

Annabelle grinned, "Do you mean that _disastrous_ tea party?"

"That poor waiter—I hope he didn't feel too bad for dropping the tea pot and bumping that other waiter into Lady Macintosh, showering her with éclairs." The queen laughed slightly, setting the container of fruit into the basket.

"Good thing she liked éclairs." Her granddaughter replied, wrapping up the last of the sandwiches.

The queen helped load up the basket, taking inventory of its contents, "All right, do we have everything we need?"

Annabelle nodded, "I think so… Grandma, do you know why Chef Arnold always refers to this as his 'second-best' picnic basket?"

She smiled, taking the handle and starting towards the door, "Well, before they were married, your mother and father took Arnold's 'first-best' picnic basket out one day and it never returned. It was mostly your father's fault—we all warned him it was going to rain but he never listened."

"Why not?"

"Because, Annabelle, your father is very stubborn when it comes to romance, and he's not going to let bad weather get in the way. But you can ask your mother to tell you the whole story. It's one of her favorites."

* * *

"I think I see a camel." Thomas muttered, squinting up at the blue, cloud-strewn sky.

"Nah, that's an alligator." Ginger corrected.

"Gin', I seriously think that's a camel. It even has two humps."

The little girl responded matter-of-factly, "That's because it's an alligator swimming in water—you can only see its head and back. Right, Papa?"

"To be perfectly honest, Ginger, all I can see are clouds. If you want me to get creative, then I'll tell you that all I can see are sheep."

The king and his two grandchildren were sprawled out on the green, neatly clipped grass of the garden, gazing up at the sky and making shapes from the clouds. At least—Ginger and Thomas were. The king had never had any ability in that area of imagination. After all, clouds were simply fluffy white things. So were sheep. What else could they possibly look like?

"I still say it's a camel." Thomas said mulishly, rolling over onto his front and pulling at the grass.

"If you say so." His grandfather replied, still counting sheep. Apparently he was doing very well at this because his eyes had started to close.

The sunshine was warm upon the earth, a cool breeze drifted in off the ocean, and the world was peaceful. He did not have any work to accomplish, he was watching the clouds pass by with his grandchildren, and soon he would be eating lunch. Life seemed pretty much perfect at that point.

"Papa, do you see the castle?" Ginger tapped his arm, pointing up at a mass of sheep piled up on the firmament.

"Yes." He answered drowsily, his eyes still closed.

She frowned, "Papa, you're falling asleep."

"Mmm."

Thomas sat up, still tearing grass from the ground. He leaned over and sprinkled some onto his sister and grandfather.

"Tom—_stop_!" Ginger complained, throwing the blades back at him as he smirked mischievously.

The king nodded, murmuring, "Yes, Tom, stop."

"Yes sir." Thomas said, even as he tossed more grass upon his sister.

"Stop it!"

There was a yelp as Ginger suddenly bowled over her brother.

"Papa help! The Night Fury is trying to eat me!"

"Good, that means there'll be more lunch for me."

"_Papa_!" Thomas protested, avoiding his sister's half nelson and ducking beneath a flailing fist.

Laughing, the king sat up and easily disentangled his granddaughter from his grandson. He then put on his sternest expression, commenting, "I think you two have too much time on your hands."

"But Papa he-." Ginger stopped talking, suddenly realizing how firm her grandfather's face was.

He nodded gravely, "Yes. It seems I'll have to lock the both of you in the dungeons until you learn better."

Thomas's eyes brightened, "Really? Awesome!"

"Papa—they're rats down there! Do we—I'll be good! I promise!" Ginger pleaded, clutching at his hand. She was genuinely frightened.

Slowly, a smile crept across the king's face, and he said, "I was only kidding. I don't even know if we have any dungeons in the palace."

Ginger pouted at him, "Papa! Don't do that!"

Her brother rubbed his chin, musing, "I bet we could find those dungeons, right, Papa?"

"Maybe. But now, I think I see our lunch coming."

He smiled at his approaching wife and granddaughter, carrying the picnic basket between them. His wife had a blanket folded over one arm, and she had her face turned to the sky, smelling the exciting summer wind.

"It is a very lovely day." The queen commented, stopping before them and unfolding the blanket to spread it tidily upon the grass.

Thomas came over to the picnic basket, demanding, "Hurry, Annie, I'm starving!"

"Just wait, Tom. Sometimes you're so much like Dad…" Annabelle muttered as she rummaged through the basket. She carefully piled plates, napkins, and the food upon the blanket.

Her grandfather, her sister, and her brother all sat expectantly, watching as the very last part of their meal—the jug of lemonade—was set next to a stack of cups.

"Okay," the queen said, sitting gracefully upon the blanket, "we have ham sandwiches, strawberries, oranges, some of Chef Arnold's prize-winning crackers, lemonade to drink and for desert," she smiled, "Chef Arnold is going to bring us a surprise."

"What's he going to bring?" Thomas asked, unwrapping his sandwich.

"It's a surprise, Tom. I don't want to ruin it for you."

Her husband nodded, "She's right, my boy. You can't ruin a perfectly good surprise." He frowned, examining his sandwich, "Cat, where are my pickles?"

"You know I don't like the smell of vinegar, Tommy." The queen replied back smoothly.

He sighed, "Unfortunately."

"Look at the size of this strawberry!" Ginger exclaimed, showing her sister the enormous, bright red fruit.

Annabelle's eyes widened as she remarked mildly, "Wow. That is big."

"The crops are doing well according to the Duke of Wentworth." The king said.

"'The crops are doing well according to the Duke of Wentworth.'" Thomas mimicked his grandfather's voice, smirking at the small grin appearing on the man's face.

"Okay, you scoundrel, let's see how well you can handle this." The king picked up an orange slice, stuffing it into his mouth.

His wife sighed and glanced at Annabelle, "Here we go."

Thomas grabbed another orange slice and crammed it into his mouth. Both grandson and grandfather turned to look at each other, grinning and showing off their orange-peel smiles. Ginger giggled and Annabelle laughed as her grandfather made a distinct 'mooing' noise around his orange slice.

The queen smiled, "Yes, you both are very good at being silly. Now why don't you stop playing with your food and try to eat it instead?"

"Caht." Her husband protested through the orange.

"Come on, dear. We need to finish eating soon or you'll never have the chance to take Tom to the pond." She responded lightly, sipping at her lemonade.

The following meal lasted for half an hour as the king, queen, and all of their grandchildren ate their way through the picnic lunch. During the process, Thomas explained eagerly about the swift escapades of Naveen the frog while Ginger pointed out the cloud castle to her grandmother—adding detailed description about the princess that lived within it. Annabelle remained rather quiet, her eyes wandering around the garden and oftentimes coming to rest on the library windows. Towards the end of the meal, Chef Arnold came out from the palace, carrying a large dish of something in his arms. He beamed down at the royal children as they came over to investigate.

The king glanced over at the chef and muttered, "What is that?"

"Apple-pie." His wife answered, smiling.

He grinned broadly, "Apple-pie! Cat, you shouldn't have." The king leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek.

Immediately, her face reddened, and she hissed, "_Tommy_, not in front of the kids."

His smirk widened, "Why not? You _did_ say my beard tickles and I want to experiment."

"Then kiss Chef Arnold—he's the one who made the pie."

"Yes, but _you_ suggested it. And you always blush when you're not expecting something like that, which makes it even more fun."

"Think of the children, Tommy." His wife said, smiling at his enjoyment.

He rolled his eyes, "The stuff their parents do and you're worried about a peck on the cheek?"

The queen shrugged, "That's true. Rapunzel and Eugene _can_ be rather enthusiastic when the mood takes them."

"They're not the only ones." He smirked.

"What has gotten into you?"

"I think it's the wind. Or maybe it's just because you're here."

"Tommy, _please_." She scolded softly, rising to her feet. "Anyway, I'd better go help Arnold or the kids will tackle him to the ground."

With a fond smile, the king watched his wife go help the chef as Thomas and Ginger tried to see what sort of delicacy rested within the covered dish.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon sped by on quick wings. Upon finishing their respective third helpings of apple-pie, the king and his grandson removed their boots, socks, rolled up the legs of their breeches, and went to the pond to hunt for frogs. The queen, Annabelle, and Ginger came to sit next to this sparkling circle of water. They listened to the dragonflies buzzing past and counted the number of lily pads floating upon the flawless reflection of the sky. It was pleasant, it was comfortable, and it was quite still.

Ginger looked up from braiding flowers together and called across the water: "Have you found him yet?"

Thomas, wading in the shallows amongst the reeds, shook his head, "Nope."

His grandfather trotted quietly next to him, barely making a ripple in the pond as he whispered, "Careful Tom. Naveen will hear you."

"Right." He turned back to his sister, whispering loudly, "Quiet or the frog will hear you!"

"Okay." Ginger finished braiding the flowers into a crown and stood up, coming over to Annabelle.

"Annie, I made you a crown." She held up the flower circlet, smiling proudly.

Annabelle grinned, "Thanks, Ginger."

The little girl stood up on tiptoe to delicately bestow the crown upon her sister's head. The white flowers contrasted well with her brown hair as it shone in the sunlight.

Ginger turned to her grandmother, "Doesn't she look pretty, Grandma?"

She sighed happily, replying, "Darling girls, you both look absolutely beautiful."

They smiled at her, and Annabelle said, "So do you, Grandma."

The queen laughed, "Thank you, dear. I haven't been told that in a while."

Ginger frowned, "Papa doesn't tell you that you're pretty?"

"No, he does." She looked over at her husband splashing through the pond, trying to capture a frog with his grandson roaring encouragement in the background. "He just does it without voicing the exact words—most of the time."

Still dissatisfied with this answer, Ginger turned and yelled, "Papa!"

The king looked up from where he had successfully caught the frog, gently holding him clamped in his hands. He squinted, asking, "What, dear girl?"

"Tell Grandma she's pretty!"

He cocked his head, "What?" Using the king's momentary lapse of attention, the frog tried to make a break for freedom. He slipped out from his fingers, leaping into the air.

Thomas spotted the flying green amphibian and dove forward, catching the frog even as he fell spectacularly into the pond. The small tidal wave from his landing sprayed water all over his grandfather. Sputtering, the king got to his feet and coughed, glancing up at his grandson. Thomas beamed and displayed the recaptured frog.

"Got him, Papa."

The king looked over towards his wife and granddaughters.

At the water's edge, all three royal ladies of Corona were howling with laughter.

"Balderdash, Tom. I think we've lost whatever dignity we had."

"Who cares? I've caught Naveen!"

His grandfather wiped water from his eyes, "Yeah—you most certainly did. Now what are you going to do with him?"

"Well, Annie doesn't really like frogs so-."

"No."

"But Papa-."

"No, Tom. Whatever plans you have for that frog should not involve either of your sisters."

"Yes sir." Thomas muttered, following his grandfather back to where Annabelle, Ginger, and the queen were still laughing.

The king tramped squelchily onto the grass and sat down with a groan. His grandson showed off his frog, announcing, "Naveen is mine!"

"Tom, don't hold him so close." His grandmother said, scooting back slightly.

"I think he's smiling at you Annie." Ginger turned to her giggling sister.

Annabelle shook her head, "No he's not, Ginger. Frogs don't smile."

The little girl suggested, "Maybe he wants you to kiss him, like that story Daddy told us?"

"Yeah!" Thomas eagerly shoved the frog at his sister, earning a squeal of disgust in the process.

"NO! I am _not_ kissing that frog! Besides-," Annabelle dodged behind her grandfather, "-it's not like he's some enchanted prince or something."

"I bet you'd kiss him if his name was _Stan_." Thomas said, smirking.

His sister glared at him, hissing, "Thomas—shush!"

"Tom, leave Annie alone and let the frog go." The king ordered, grabbing the collar of his grandson's wet shirt and stopping him in his tracks.

"But Papa, I just caught him!"

"Yes, and now you're getting in trouble because of it."

Thomas pouted, holding the frog tighter to his chest.

His grandmother shook her head wearily, murmuring, "Tom, dear, we are all very impressed that you've captured Naveen. Now let the poor frog go."

He paused, glancing at the amphibian in his hands. The frog gave a pleading ribbit. Finally he nodded, "Fine." He tossed the frog back into the pond, muttering, "He's awful sticky anyway."

"It's called mucus, Tom." The king said as Annabelle crept out from behind his back.

"_Mucus_?" He grinned evilly and—clearly without thinking—rubbed his sticky hands all over Ginger's hair.

"Tom!" She shouted, running after her brother as he raced around the garden.

"Mucus hands! Beware! Hahaha!" Thomas hooted, waving his arms in the air.

Annabelle sighed, "I suppose I'd better go stop them before they destroy the place."

She went after her siblings, trying to tell them not to run through the new flowerbeds. The king glanced over at his wife, his beard dripping water onto his chest. She snorted rather unladylike, trying to keep herself from bursting into laughter again.

"I was told that I had to tell you something." Her husband said slowly.

"And what was that?"

"Cat, you look positively gorgeous today. The sun's got nothing on you."

She smiled, "Thank you, Tommy. By the way, you've got pondweed behind your ear."

He slid a finger along his ear and flicked the wet slime off onto the ground, muttering, "I probably should wash up before dinner tonight."

"You and your grandson. Speaking of which, where did they get off to?"

"Probably terrorizing some innocent flowerbeds. It's no wonder Rapunzel and Eugene are so tired out by the end of the day."

His wife nodded, "Yes, but the kids _are_ fun."

"Yep. What a bunch of silly grandchildren we have. I don't think I could ask for a better set."

"Probably not."

* * *

Evening drew closer, and the sun was setting outside the palace windows when the king and his wife sat in their sitting room once more, watching their grandchildren. Thomas, cleaned up and dry, was attempting to explain the finer details of the war game to his younger sister. He shoved the little blue, tin soldiers across their cardboard terrain, speaking rapidly while Ginger took the other team and began setting up a wedding between them and her dolls. Annabelle sat next to her grandmother on the sofa, nodding as she demonstrated the sewing technique Lady Henrietta had told her about. She gazed interestedly, following the queen's hands darting back and forth with the needle and thread.

The king had reassumed his reply to the letter of Rod Macintosh, but he was barely paying any attention to the words he wrote down. With the distractions of his youngest grandchildren arguing about soldier-doll marriage on the floor and his wife and Annabelle babbling on about sewing, it was hard to concentrate. Not that his own happiness helped either. For, he could honestly say, he had not felt this content in a long time. The very realization made him grin widely.

"Tommy, you'll never get that letter done if you don't start now." His wife said, running her needle through the loose fabric across her knees.

"Of course. Sorry, dear." He tried to return to his work, but his eyes wandered over to where Thomas was shaking his head.

"No, Gin', you can't marry your dumb princess to General Hexam!"

"General Hexam doesn't know what's good for him!" Ginger retorted, grabbing the unfortunate general and plunking him back down next to her doll.

Thomas slapped at his face, groaning, "But he has to lead his troops into battle!"

"He can do that after the wedding." She replied determinedly. "Princess Persephona wants to marry him now."

"Whatever! I give up!" Thomas rose to his feet, made an exaggerated gasp, and clutched at his lower abdomen. "Oh, balderdash, I think I stretched something!"

"Or you have appendicitis, dear." His grandmother said calmly.

The king smirked at his wife, and then hastily pretended he was working when she glanced towards him. The queen looked up at the clock on their mantelpiece, frowning.

"It's nearly dinnertime. Do you think Rapunzel and Eugene will sleep through supper?"

Her husband shrugged, "With them, it's all together possible they left the kingdom and went off on another one of those 'secret vacations' of theirs."

"No—I don't think so…"

Just then, the royal couple in question came into the room. Both looked completely rested and quite happy with life in general. They had dressed well for dinner—as was customary in the palace—and Rapunzel was even wearing her crown. Of course, she had only just gotten it away from her husband after a short game of 'crown for a kiss' out in the hallway—but a servant had interrupted them so it had not been too difficult.

Ginger glanced up at their entrance, and her face brightened in joy.

"Mommy! Daddy!" She sprang up and ran to them, laughing as Eugene scooped her up in his arms.

Her brother grinned and marched over to his mother, proclaiming: "I caught Naveen the frog prince today!"

Rapunzel smiled in puzzlement, brushing back her son's bangs, "That's nice, dear."

"Daddy, you wouldn't believe what we've done today." Ginger said, talking very fast to her father.

Eugene grinned, "Oh, I don't know about that, Ginger-snap. I'm pretty good at believing the unbelievable."

Annabelle stood up and walked over to her parents. She hugged her mother, smiling, "Hello, Mom."

"Good evening, Annie. Did you have a good day?"

She nodded, "It was great. Grandma and Papa took care of us all day and we had a picnic outside. Grandma's also teaching me a new sewing pattern."

The queen set aside her sewing and joined them, laying a hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. "Your daughter's quite skilled, Rapunzel. As is Ginger."

Rapunzel smiled, "Thanks, Mom. For everything."

"You're welcome, dear."

Thomas looked up at his father, "Dad, do you know where the dungeons of the palace are?"

Eugene glanced nervously to his father-in-law, who merely smiled. The prince consort coughed, "Um, I'm not sure, Thomas. Maybe we can find a building plan in the library somewhere."

"All right. So, what did you guys do today?" The boy asked curiously.

"We relaxed, as good parents should. And we missed all of you, naturally." Eugene kissed his daughter on the head.

"Did you really miss us, Daddy?" Ginger asked him.

"Yes, Ginger-snap, I did."

Rapunzel looked over at her husband, "Okay, Eugene, it's nearly time for dinner and you were complaining about how hungry you were."

"I was. And if we don't start off towards the dinning room, I might start up again." He nodded respectfully to his mother-in-law, adding teasingly, "With your permission, of course, your Majesty."

The queen smiled, "Permission granted."

Eugene set his daughter down and held out his arm, "May I escort you to the dinning room, Ma'am?"

"Yes, you may." The queen accepted his offer, rolling her eyes at the small smirk on her son-in-law's face. Thomas and Ginger followed them into the hallway, asking what Chef Arnold was cooking for dinner as well as continuing to wonder where the palace dungeons were.

Rapunzel and Annabelle looked over at the king.

"Dad-," Rapunzel began, narrowing her eyes, "-are you coming?"

"Yes. Hold on." He sealed the envelope and set it down onto his table. Then he came over to stand between his granddaughter and daughter.

"So, ladies, shall we adjourn to partake in the bounty of this glorious kingdom?" He held out his arms, allowing Annabelle and Rapunzel to slide their arms over each of his.

"If you mean go eat dinner, then yes." Rapunzel replied, grinning.

"Excellent. Let us walk."

They headed towards the dinning room. Outside, the sun turned the world pink, and clouds—resembling camels, castles, and frogs—drifted across the sky.


	14. Dreams, chocolate, marshmallows, pillows

**Author Note**: So I decided to jump on the bandwagon for a bit and have a nightmare-sequence... with a bit more added on :D The next thing I do will hopefully be something dealing with the Uncles, but I don't know when that'll be up... Anyway, today has been a gorgeous day outside and I'm happy to say I think summer's coming early :D SCORE! :D Thanks for reading, reviewing, waiting, and enjoying! Hope you guys like this bit! :D YOU ARE AWESOME! :D hahaha and I appreciate you all very much :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story. Disney also owns Emperor's New Groove. William Goldman owns The Princess Bride

* * *

Eugene woke up in the darkness of the bedroom. He frowned. What had woken him up? There was a storm going on outside—a hurricane from the sound of it—and the wind was howling, and the rain pelted the windows, and the white lightning raked across a black, cloudy sky. Abruptly, a deep boom of thunder sounded, shaking the building with its resonation. And, in the silence that followed this terrific bellow of the storm, he realized what had woken him.

His wife was crying.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He rolled over to look at her barely discernable form.

She was huddled, clutching the sheets, her knees drawn up and her back hunched. She was shaking, tormented moans coming from her quivering mouth. Her face—what little he could see—had crumpled into a strained expression of fear and pain. Then, with a start, Eugene realized something else.

Rapunzel was still asleep.

"Rapunzel." Eugene quickly reached out and took her wet face in his hands. "Rapunzel, wake up. Wake up."

She jerked back, her eyes snapped open, and she gasped brokenly.

"Eu—Eugene?" She lifted her hand to seize his wrist, still breathing hard.

He tenderly wiped a thumb across her cheek, murmuring, "I'm here. It's okay."

"Eugene…" Rapunzel whispered, her voice tight—her fingers vice-like over his arm.

With one movement, he pulled his wife into a strong, reassuring embrace. She buried her face in his neck, shivering and crying as he held her. Eugene cupped the back of her head in his hand, stroking her short-cropped hair and cradling her in his arms. She panted tearfully, sounding as if she had just been tortured—and he felt an intense anger rising within him. But he could not fight a dream. Not even if it was a nightmare.

Almost in defiance, he brought Rapunzel closer to himself, comforting her even as he also protected her. For several minutes they just lay there, hanging on to each other as the world outside raged amidst the torrential rainstorm. Then Eugene felt her grip slacken slightly. She was still trembling, but less violently now. Her face was still pressed against his neck, and she continued to weep—but it was a quiet noise, and no longer so terrified.

"Are you all right?" Eugene asked, rubbing her shoulder.

"Y-yes."

"Are you sure?"

She sniffed, replying miserably, "No."

Her husband nodded, kissing her forehead as he muttered, "Then I'll hold you until you are."

Rapunzel took a deep breath. Then another. She was calming herself down.

Finally, she said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now-," he looked down at her upturned face, "-do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I—I do and… I don't."

Eugene brushed back her bangs, "Okay. You don't have to."

"No I-," she shut her eyes tightly, "-I do. It's just—it's been _years_, Eugene. I haven't dreamed about—about _her_ for years."

He kept his silence, merely squeezing her arm in encouragement.

Rapunzel shook her head, "It—it started out like it normally does. You had just gotten into the tower and I was chained and—and she—she…"

"I know."

"But it didn't end there. She just kept—hurting you and then-," she swallowed, "then the kids were there."

Eugene stiffened. This was new. This was painfully new.

"And she hurt them." Rapunzel hissed, grabbing his shirt. "She hurt them, Eugene. She was—my kids…" His wife was on the verge of tears again.

"Listen." Eugene said quickly, gazing at her. "Listen to me. _No one_ is ever going to touch our children. No one will. _Especially_ not her."

"I know—I just… Eugene."

"Shhh." He hugged her again.

She continued to speak, her voice muffled by his chest, "I know it's just a dream—just a nightmare. I know that it will never happen again. That it can't happen. But I remember and it scares me. It scares me so much. And then Annie and Tom and Ginger—what if she found them?"

Eugene shook his head, responding bluntly, "She can't. She's gone."

"What if someone else found them?"

"No one will. I promise you that. No one will ever find them or hurt them and no one will ever find you or hurt you. I love you all far too much. I will keep you safe." He ran his hand through her hair again, bringing it down to rest beneath her chin.

Rapunzel nodded, saying in resolve, "And I will keep _you_ safe." She glanced up at him, adding, "Because someone has to."

"And why not a beautiful woman who can handle a frying pan better than most men can handle a sword?" Eugene smiled, sitting up slightly so that his back rested against the headboard of the bed. Rapunzel leaned upon him, his arm around her.

"I can handle a sword too, you know," his wife reminded quietly. "You taught me some swordplay."

" Yeah—I remember _those_ lessons. There's a reason I got this, after all." He indicated an old, faint—insignificant, really—scar on his forearm.

"I said I was sorry."

"I know. It was my own fault for not wearing gloves. I just didn't realize that sword was so sharp."

Rapunzel smiled, "You realized it soon enough, though. But you still taught me."

"And you still put up with my complaints."

"_That's_ never changed."

"Never will, either." Eugene grinned, setting his cheek against the side of her head.

A span of time passed by, where instead of talking the royal couple listened to the wailing of the harsh wind and lashing rain outside. Rapunzel could feel her husband breathing, the slow rise of his chest gently lifting her as she rested against him. It was wonderful to feel him living after having been devastated by his dream-self dying. He was alive—amazingly and comfortingly alive. And he was not going anywhere anytime soon. She took his hand, tracing a finger across the scar he had pointed out. It really was not _that_ obvious.

"So, are you okay now?" Eugene asked, his eyelids flickering. He was getting sleepy.

"Much better, thank you. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be. I love you, Rapunzel, and whenever you need me, I'll be there."

Rapunzel smiled and nodded. Then she tilted her head to the side.

"Is someone knocking?"

Eugene shrugged, "Maybe it's just the wind."

She straightened, "No—_that's_ knocking."

"The guards don't patrol these corridors until later."

"Well, we still have to find out what it is." She made to rise, but her husband set his hand on her arm.

"I'll go. You stay here." He left the bed and padded over to the door on bare feet.

As he approached the door, he could hear a tiny, rapid tapping sound. Whoever was in the hall was determined to come in. Why—even the doorknob was jiggling!

Eugene unlocked the door and opened it, peering into the blackness of the corridor.

Someone quite small latched onto his leg, squeezing him around his knee.

"Daddy!"

"Ginger-snap?" He reached down and felt a soft head of hair. "What are you doing up this late?"

Ginger whimpered inaudibly—and he could only catch 'bad' and, some seconds later, 'dream'. Eugene sighed.

"Come on, sweetie. You can stay with us for tonight." He picked her up, and immediately she set her tiny arms around his neck.

Suddenly, a soft light filled the room as Rapunzel lit a candle. Eugene blinked in the brightness, wincing.

"You could have warned me." He said, coming back over to the bed.

Rapunzel frowned in concern, "Ginger? What are you doing here?"

"Mommy!"

The little girl launched herself from her father's arms and into her mother's. Unfortunately, she did this when Eugene was unprepared, pushing off of him and making him stagger back.

"It's okay, Ginger. I have you—you're okay. You're safe." Rapunzel held her daughter, hugging her tightly as she continued to cry.

Eugene rubbed at his chin where his daughter's explosive exit had landed a kick to his face. He groaned, "Ouch, Ginger-snap. Did you have to flail your feet out like that?"

Rapunzel glared at him, "Shhh, Eugene. She's scared."

He shrugged, "Sorry. Um," Eugene awkwardly took a seat on the bed, scratching the back of his neck, "what did you dream about?"

Ginger mumbled something. Her father did not understand, but her mother evidently did because Rapunzel whispered: "Oh, poor little girl. It's okay."

"What?"

"Just pay attention dear."

Eugene folded his arms, "Right. Er—it's okay. Your mom's here, I'm here, and you'll be all right, Ginger-snap."

His daughter turned her tear-streaked face to her father, murmuring, "I couldn't find you… no one was around and I was sc-scared…"

"It was just a bad dream—it wasn't real. Besides, we're here now and nothing's going to change that." Rapunzel smoothed down her daughter's hair, smiling comfortingly at her.

"I hate bad dreams." Ginger said, her lower lip wobbling.

"I know. I do too." Her mother glanced over at Eugene, and he smiled slightly.

He sighed, declaring, "The good thing is, Ginger-snap, is that no matter what, bad dreams are over when you wake up. You don't have to be afraid about them anymore."

"And if you are, you can always come to us." Rapunzel assured, patting the little girl's back lovingly.

"What if—if they come back?"

"Then your father will scare them away. He's very good at that."

Eugene narrowed his eyes and let out an exaggerated growl. His daughter giggled as he rose to his feet and held up his arms, vowing, "I'll chase away any nightmare that comes! I'll be so scary I'll give _them_ nightmares!"

"Eugene, your hair could give them nightmares right now." Rapunzel smirked when her husband quickly reached up to brush down his disheveled hair.

"It _is_ messy, Daddy." Ginger agreed seriously.

Eugene shrugged and let his hand fall back to his side, "Happens. Anyway, can I interest you wonderful ladies in hot chocolate?"

"Can I have some too?"

All three turned to look at the open door. Thomas—his hair as sleep-messed as his father's—stood out in the hallway. He had his slingshot in one hand, and he was rubbing his eyes, yawning.

"Why are you awake, Thomas?" Eugene asked, watching as his son entered the room.

"I—I heard Gin' running past my room and-," there was a sharp clap of thunder outside and Ginger moved closer to her mother, "-the storm's loud."

"Ah. Well, I suppose one more Fitzherbert in the room can't hurt."

Thomas grinned and climbed onto the bed, laying out on his stomach and looking up at his father. Eugene smirked, drumming his knuckles affectionately on the boy's head. Thomas groaned in protest.

"Eugene?"

He looked up, "Yes dear?"

"Are you going to go get us some hot chocolate?" Rapunzel asked, resting her chin on Ginger's head. The little girl smiled at him.

"Yes I will. What would you all like?"

"Marshmallows. The little kind." Ginger answered immediately.

Thomas wiggled out from underneath his father's hand, saying, "Well, I want the big kind. And chocolate."

"Whipped cream." Rapunzel said.

Eugene nodded, stretching, "All right then. I'll be back with the required hot chocolate. The required hot cocoa-moo—the finest warm mix of chocolate and milk in all of Corona. Perhaps even the world." He grinned.

His wife smiled, "Go, Eugene, or I'll go for you."

"No need—no need. I'll be off."

He went out into the dark hallway, trotting carefully along. The floor was quite cold. He wondered why there were no carpets around this stretch of the palace. Maybe he could talk with the butlers about that.

Suddenly, there was a boom of thunder outside and he jumped at the noise, nearly crashing into a side table. Eugene gripped the wooden surface, trying to calm his heart rate down. Then he cocked his head. Something tiny was attached to his back. Or rather, someone.

"Pascal," he said, resuming his journey to the kitchens, "how many times do I have to tell you not to climb on me?"

The chameleon gave a sleepy 'squip' and crawled up onto Eugene's shoulder. The prince consort sighed, "I don't suppose you know where Chef Armando keeps the marshmallows?"

There was another faint, non-understandable 'squip'.

"Oh, and what else do you want to tell me?" Eugene asked, not believing he was actually carrying on a conversation with his wife's chameleon.

Two thrums and a squeak. Yeah. _That_ made sense.

"Well, Pascal, what do you think about the weather? Haven't seen a thunderstorm like this one for a month." He turned a corner and began to descend the silent staircase.

More squeaks.

"Yeah? Really? And what else has your Uncle Archibald told you?"

The chameleon rolled his eyes.

"Yeah." Then Eugene's voice lowered, and he asked, "What do you think about Rapunzel having that bad dream?"

This time the small reptile made a threatening growl. Eugene nodded. If there was one thing he and the frog agreed on, it was that nothing that made Rapunzel upset deserved to live. But you could not kill a nightmare.

"I just don't know what to do, Pascal. It's not like there's anything more I can do. But I hate seeing her so upset. You know?"

Pascal 'squipped' again, and actually tapped one of his miniature feet companionably on Eugene's shoulder.

He smiled, "Thanks. I needed that."

Thrum.

"You're probably right. The best thing I can do for her is to always be there when she wakes up. And I will _always_ be there for her."

Pascal smiled his little chameleon smile and climbed down Eugene's chest to slip into his front pocket. Eugene smirked as the tiny bulge began to emit soft snoring sounds. He raised his hand and pushed open the kitchen door.

* * *

He found his father-in-law sitting, complete with bathrobe and bunny slippers, at the counter. The king was patiently counting sugar cubes by light of the kitchen fire when Eugene entered, and he did not look up. Then, with a few quiet plops, he dropped the sugar into his mug of coffee, sprinkling his reading spectacles with the liquid.

"You're up a little late, are you not, Eugene?" He asked, picking up a kettle of hot water from above the fire and pouring it into a cup with a tea bag.

Eugene shrugged and reached up for the boxes where Chef Arnold kept his hot cocoa mixes. "I'm down to make hot chocolate for my wife and your adorable grandkids. Do you know where Armando keeps his marshmallows?"

"Hidden in the pantry—top shelf to the right."

"If they're hidden then how do you know where they are?" Eugene asked as he set a jar of the cocoa mix onto the counter.

"Dear boy, I've lived in this palace my entire life. I know where everything is probably far better than even _you_ do."

Eugene smiled slightly, "Oh, I don't know about that, your Majesty. Apparently you don't know if we have dungeons in the palace or not."

The king nodded, frowning at the cup of tea in his hand, "Oh, we do. As you and I can both attest, having been in them at one point in our lives."

"When did you go down there?" Eugene plopped several shovelfuls of the chocolate mix into five mugs.

"I was about Tom's age and I got lost during a game of hide-and-seek. It was a few hours before they found me—I was greatly distraught and blubbering horrendously…" His father-in-law narrowed his eyes, "Do you know how much sugar Cat likes in her tea?"

"Nope. But Rapunzel always asks for five cubes, if that helps."

"Yes… yes I think that's correct. By the way, there's still more hot water in the kettle. And I heated up some milk as well for Cat's tea. You can mix the two for hot chocolate instead of making another batch."

Eugene breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness. I would rather not have to explain to Armando why his kitchen is aflame."

"I was wondering why _you_ were the one sent to get hot chocolate." The king turned around, carefully arranging his coffee and his wife's tea on a tray.

Eugene shrugged and began pouring a combination of hot water and milk into the cups. "Well, I offered. Apparently we're having a Fitzherbert family campout in our bedroom tonight. Not that I mind much."

"Good for you. Just—when you have the inevitable pillow fight—understand that the maids will scold you considerably for all the feathers."

"I think we might be able to avoid it."

He raised his eyebrows, "The pillow fight?"

"The scolding. If we slip out fast enough in the morning we can avoid them all together." Eugene smirked.

"You _are_ still a scoundrel, aren't you?"

He nodded, stirring the hot chocolates, "Yes sir. I'm a happily married scoundrel with an imposing father-in-law."

The king picked up his tray, "And don't you ever forget that."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Eugene reached for the kettle again to add more water to one of the cups.

His father-in-law smiled and made his way over to the door, "Goodnight, Eugene. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

Eugene started, accidentally spilling some hot water on his hand. Wincing, he waved his burning hand and asked nervously, "Sir?"

"It's this book Cat's been reading. It's an absolute riot. Oh, by the way, the next time Rapunzel asks you to do something, reply back with 'as you wish'. Gets me a kiss every time when I do it with Cat." He grinned mischievously.

"But I'm not sure if Rapunzel's read this bo-."

"I'll get my wife to give it to her. Then you'll have the power of literature on your side!" The king winked victoriously at him and left, carrying his tray of tea and coffee with him.

Not sure if he understood the advice his father-in-law had just given him, Eugene finished making hot chocolate and began the journey back to his bedroom, listening to the storm outside.

* * *

While her husband went to fetch the requested hot chocolate, Rapunzel looked at her son knowingly. She smiled, "Okay, Tom, I know the storm's loud but you've never let that bother you before. What really happened?"

Thomas squirmed uncomfortably under his mother's gaze, finally muttering, "I—I had a bad dream…"

"There seems to be a lot of that going on tonight."

He frowned, "What?"

"Ginger had one and-," Rapunzel sighed, "-so did I."

Her daughter looked up at her, "_You_ had a bad dream too?"

She nodded, "Unfortunately it's something that you can't outgrow. But I'm okay now. Your father scared it away for me."

Thunder rumbled, and a streak of white lightning arced across the sky outside.

After a moment, Thomas traced his finger along the sheets and muttered, "Well—Dad was _in_ my dream… he was tied to a log-," he looked up, eyes wide, "-and he was careening out of control down a raging river of death!"

A wrinkle appeared across Rapunzel's forehead, "How did he end up tied to a log?"

"I don't know. But Mom—what if that actually happens?" He asked nervously.

Rapunzel gently touched his face, "Don't worry, dear, it won't. Besides, if anything happens to your father then I'll be there to help him get out of it."

"But what if you're not?"

"Then _you_ will be there to help him," she replied back confidently. "I know you, Tom. You wouldn't let anything bad happen to anyone you care about."

"I'd try." Thomas said, his voice determined.

She smiled, "And you'd succeed."

"Well, in my dream, Dad had to kiss a llama." Annabelle announced, walking into the room.

Thomas made a face, "A llama?"

His sister nodded, "Yep. Weird, huh?" She glanced to her mother, "Mom, where is Dad?"

Rapunzel answered, "He went to get hot chocolate, dear. Did the storm wake you up?"

She shrugged and took a seat next to her mother, "Yeah, I suppose."

"Dad would _never_ kiss a llama!" Thomas protested, shuddering in disgust.

"Unless he really liked it." Ginger argued.

Her brother snorted, "What? Nah, he wouldn't."

"Besides, Ginger," Annabelle pointed out, "Dad only likes kissing Mom."

Thomas winced, "Ew… don't say _that_, Annie."

Rapunzel smiled, "Well, if your dad ever decided to kiss a llama, he would probably have a very good reason for it. But thankfully, llamas are not indigenous to Corona, so we'll have no problems."

* * *

Out in another part of the palace, Eugene glanced down at the slumbering chameleon in his pocket.

"Pascal, you know I'm not going to let you stay in there all night."

'Squip!'

"Hey, I don't call _you_ names."

An indignant squeak.

"Oh—well, 'frog' is more of an _affectionate_ nickname."

The chameleon poked his head out from above the top of Eugene's pocket, yawning sleepily. Then he crawled up onto his shoulder, descended down the man's arm, and took a seat on the tray. Pascal started to eye the hot chocolate.

Eugene shook his head, "No. You can't have any of that. Chocolate is not good for frogs—or chameleons."

'Squipper.'

"Yes, I know you all too well. But if you _must_ taste someone's hot chocolate—taste mine."

Pascal gave him a grateful squeak and took Eugene up on his offer. Eugene sighed. The things he did for love…

He frowned as he neared his room. He could hear the voices of his wife, his son, and… _both_ of his daughters? Good thing he thought to bring an extra cup. Eugene reached the bedchamber, stopping just outside the doorway.

His wife was still sitting up in bed, with Ginger snuggled to her. Annabelle had taken a seat next to Rapunzel, leaning her head against her mother's shoulder. Thomas was rolled onto his back, gazing upside down at Rapunzel as she spoke. It was a familiar sight—his family all gathered together and talking about everything under the sun. But nonetheless, Eugene felt his heart fill with extreme warmth and contentment. He smiled, listening to his wife as she continued to speak.

Rapunzel was talking about the storm and the ocean and the moon, explaining how they all were balanced together by the turn and tilt of the earth. And she was brushing her son's hair back from his forehead as she spoke, making the boy grin in a way he would never want any one else—outside his family—to see. Then Annabelle asked a question, her voice soft and sleepy. Her mother responded by giving her a half-hug, squeezing her shoulders.

"No, Annie, I don't think the storm will last longer than tonight."

Thomas beamed, "So we can go to the beach tomorrow?"

"If your father doesn't mind." Rapunzel said as Ginger glanced up at her.

"Will Daddy be done with work?"

"I don't know. He should be if he finished that last report."

"I did finish it." Eugene entered the room, carrying the tray and using a few fingers to scoot Pascal away from his cup.

Rapunzel smirked, "Since I can't smell any smoke I'm assuming you managed to not burn down the kitchen?"

"Yep. Chef Armando-."

"Arnold." Both Rapunzel and Annabelle corrected automatically.

"-doesn't have to worry about anything. Anyway," Eugene set the tray down on his bedside table and picked up one of the mugs. He examined it, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Now, who asked for little marshmallows?"

"Me! I did, Daddy!" Ginger exclaimed happily.

Her father shook his head teasingly, "Nah—couldn't have been you. I think this was Thomas's."

Thomas sat up, responding, "No way. I like the big marshmallows with chocolate."

"Oh—all right." Eugene gave his son the requested cup and gazed, once again, at the small one in his hand. "Rapunzel, did you get this one?"

"_Daddy_."

His wife smiled, "No, dear. I asked for whipped cream."

"Okay. Whipped cream as whipped as your husband." He flashed a grin when she rolled her eyes, and delicately handed her the mug.

Then he turned back to his youngest daughter's cup, musing, "Now, I know this can't be Annie's because she wasn't here to give me an order. Maybe I should take it back-?"

"Daddy! _Pul-ease_!" Ginger was frowning now, her arms crossed and her green eyes narrowed.

Eugene laughed, "All right. All right, I knew it was yours all along, Ginger-snap. But now that it's cooled off, you might not burn your tongue on it."

"Blow on it a little to be on the safe side." Rapunzel told her.

Ginger eagerly took the cup from her father, cradling it in her hands and blowing enthusiastically over the surface.

Eugene went around to the other side of the bed and gave his eldest daughter the other cup of hot chocolate.

"Hello, Annie. Nice of you to join us." He smiled.

She grinned, "Thanks Dad."

"Eugene, there's still another cup over here."

"Yeah—that'd be mine. Has Pascal drank it all yet?"

Rapunzel passed him his cup, replying, "He hasn't touched it. I don't think he likes whatever you put in it."

"Oh yeah. I forgot he doesn't like cinnamon." Eugene sat down next to his son, facing his wife and daughters.

"So, Eugene, we were talking about maybe possibly spending the day at the beach tomorrow… how does that sound to you?" Rapunzel looked at him.

He frowned, rubbing his nose, "Well, I don't know. I mean, we _could_. That is if everyone wants to go."

"Dad," Thomas said, gazing at his father earnestly, a line of hot chocolate above his mouth, "I really want to go."

"Me too." Ginger added.

"Me three." Annabelle nodded.

Rapunzel smiled at her husband, and Eugene sighed.

"All right. You've talked me into it."

"Like that took much." Rapunzel sipped at her drink, "Thank you for the hot chocolate, dear."

Eugene smiled, "You're welcome, my love."

Thomas took another long gulp of his hot chocolate, emerging with a marshmallow clamped between his teeth. His father laughed, "Very impressive."

The boy sucked the marshmallow back into his mouth and presented his family with a marshmallow-gooey smile.

"Slightly less impressive." Annabelle remarked to her brother's annoyance.

"Bet you can't put as many marshmallows in your mouth as I can." Thomas dared.

She smirked, "You're on, chocolate face."

"Dad, did you bring any more marshmallows?"

Eugene shrugged, "There might be some left on the tray if Pascal didn't get into them."

Ginger poked another marshmallow into the happy chameleon's mouth, replying, "He's okay. I'm sharing mine with him."

"Ginger, don't feed him too much or he'll get a tummy ache." Rapunzel muttered, reaching around her daughter to stroke the little reptile's head. "He doesn't know when to stop."

"He's had ten."

Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Wow, Pascal. You've increased your sugar intake."

Meanwhile, Thomas had fetched the bowl of extra marshmallows and was demonstrating his oral capacity for them. So far he had managed to stuff seven into his mouth. Annabelle was working on five before she gave up.

She shook her head, admitting, "I can't do it. I never really liked marshmallows much anyway."

Thomas beamed, his cheeks bulging, "Gee, gah tole goo!"

"Tom, don't talk with your mouth full." Rapunzel said absently.

Her son gave a tremendous swallow—choked half-way through the mass in his mouth—and had to be pounded on the back by his father before he could gasp: "Sorry, Mom."

Rapunzel frowned, "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Eugene continued to rub Thomas's back, answering for his son, "He's fine. Just couldn't handle that many marshmallows."

Thomas coughed slightly and then turned to look at his father, "How many can you get in, Dad?"

He gulped down his hot chocolate, asking, "How many what?"

"Marshmallows."

Eugene pursed his lips, "Oh, I don't know. 'Bout fifteen."

Ginger's eyes widened, "_Fifteen_?"

He grinned, "Yep. Your dad holds a record in stuffing his face with marshmallows."

"That and a reputation for a rather big mouth." His wife commented jokingly.

He narrowed his eyes, "That wasn't nice."

Rapunzel shrugged innocently, "Hey, you set yourself up for that one, Eugene."

"Well—I suppose I did. Anyway, Thomas, give me that bowl of marshmallows. Annie, you keep count. Let's see if I've still got it in me."

So Eugene proceeded to cram marshmallows into his mouth, much to the entertainment of his children and wife. He had spent his earliest years at the orphanage perfecting this technique, and was actually quite proud of it. However, that had been several years ago. His face had not been so firm and taut—so set in stone. Now, he was beginning to have difficulty in keeping even ten marshmallows in his mouth.

His facial muscles were straining against the explosion threatening to take place. He could barely see for the painful squint of his eyes, and his breathing became unevenly paced.

"Eugene, maybe you should-."

He shook his head stubbornly and tried to apply another marshmallow to his cheeks. It was at this point that his muscles snapped and semi-dissolved marshmallows were sprayed everywhere.

Ginger squeaked and hid under the covers—Annabelle shut her eyes and braced herself—Thomas gazed, open-mouthed, at the catastrophe as it took place. Rapunzel, on the other hand, grabbed the nearest pillow she could find and used it as a shield for herself and her daughters.

A second later, Eugene gingerly touched his cheeks, wincing. Thomas, marshmallows stuck to his face, grinned.

"Dad, that was awesome."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He replied weakly, glancing up to see his wife and daughters poking their heads out from behind the sticky pillow.

"Um—are you all right?" Rapunzel asked, casting aside the pillow and watching as her husband groaned, feeling his jaw.

"Kind-of. What about you guys?"

"We managed." Rapunzel looked over at her eldest child, "Annie—you didn't quite make it out of firing range. Hold still."

Eugene shot an apologetic look to Annabelle as her mother gently untangled a marshmallow from her hair. Annabelle smiled.

"It's okay, Dad."

"Thanks."

"But I'm still going to hit you with a pillow."

"Wha—ah!" Eugene ducked as his daughter swung a pillow in his direction.

"Pillow fight!" Thomas shouted, grabbing another pillow and slamming it against his father's head.

"Thomas—no! Stop! Help!" Eugene tried to escape the blows of his son and daughter, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. Thomas laughed madly and leapt on top of him, flailing about left and right with his pillow. Annabelle then began to hit both her brother and father, grinning at the yelps.

Eugene surged upward, his son hanging onto his back, "_Rapunzel_!"

She smiled, asking calmly, "Yes dear?"

"Assistance please!"

Rapunzel sighed and gathered up the forgotten cups, setting them onto the tray. Then she turned to her youngest daughter as Eugene and the other children continued to flounder in the background.

"Ginger, would you like to help me beat your father in a pillow fight?"

She beamed, "Sure!"

"This is mutiny!" Eugene complained, grabbing a pillow off the bed as Rapunzel and Ginger began to attack.

"Yeah!" Thomas agreed, continuing to slap his father with his pillow.

Annabelle rolled her eyes, "Oh, you don't even know what mutiny means, Tom!"

"Don't have to!" He dodged a hit to the stomach and whipped up his pillow to collide with his sister's shoulder.

Eugene, meanwhile, was trying for all he was worth to keep his wife and youngest from pounding him. Laughing, he easily sidestepped Rapunzel's strike, landing a retaliatory hit in return. Ginger giggled, battering at her father's legs and nearly tripping him up. Then she turned to face her brother and, joining forces with Annabelle, renewed the onslaught. Thomas jumped up onto the bed, defending himself even as his father did the same from the other side.

"Rapunzel, I'm sure we could talk this out." Eugene joked, ducking a swipe.

Behind him, his son laughed triumphantly and whacked both Ginger's and Annabelle's pillows out of their hands. Annabelle quickly retrieved hers and hurled it at her brother, knocking him down onto the bed. Her pillow popped open, and soft, grey feathers spilled out into the air.

Eugene glanced up at the down floating above him, "Oh no… the maids are going to-."

"Gotcha!" Rapunzel charged forward, shoving her husband down onto the bed and pummeling him with her pillow.

Her enthusiasm caused more feathers to fly out, and soon all anyone could see was a cloud of white and grey within the candlelight. Thomas sat up, spitting out feathers and trying to find his pillow. Locating the cushion, he brought it up to face off with his sisters again, roaring for revenge. Annabelle had found another pillow however, and she and Ginger clambered onto the bed to continue the fight.

The princess of Corona was still smacking her husband with her featherless pillow. Eugene tried to protect himself from the blows—laughing at the mess she had made.

"Okay—okay," he smirked. "I surrender."

She shook her head, remarking, "I thought the likes of you never surrendered?"

Eugene chuckled, "_Please_, Rapunzel, I surrendered the first day I met you."

Rapunzel grinned, tossing her pillow at her children and helping her husband to his feet. He immediately wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her close as she turned around to lean against him.

"Won." Rapunzel told him satisfactorily.

"You always win." Eugene replied.

Both returned to watching their children slap each other with the pillows. More feathers were sent up, but it appeared the royal trio was tiring. Their enthusiasm had gone down, and the blows that were exchanged seemed half-hearted. Finally, Ginger fell back onto the bed, yawning. Her siblings did likewise, laughing as she continued to yawn.

"Come on, Gin', you can't _possibly_ be sleepy." Thomas declared.

Annabelle stifled a yawn of her own, responding, "I don't know about that, Tom. I'm getting tired too."

"I think we all are." Rapunzel decided, smiling at her children.

Ginger suddenly raised her hand, "Listen."

The family stopped talking and obeyed. Outside, the storm had quieted some. Rain was still pouring, but it was a gentle rain. Thunder no longer bellowed, and the gusts of wind had dwindled down into dull whistles.

"The storm's dying." Eugene murmured.

Ginger pouted, "Does that mean we have to go back to bed now?"

Her father glanced at his wife, meeting her smile with one of his own. He shook his head, "No. No, you can all stay here for the night."

"Yes!" Thomas cheered before breaking out into a long yawn.

"What are we going to do now, Dad?" Annabelle looked to her father.

"Well," Eugene reluctantly released his wife and began sweeping feathers off the bed, "I don't really know what else to do tonight. Best thing I can think of is to go to sleep."

"But I'm not-," Thomas yawned again, "-tired."

Rapunzel patted him on the head, "Okay, dear. The rest of us can go to sleep while you stay up all night."

"_Mom_." Her son objected, smiling somewhat as she laughed.

"Okay. Everyone in the bed." Eugene ordered, sitting down as his wife did the same.

There were some slight adjustments made, but eventually the standings in the bed ran as such: Eugene and Rapunzel stretched out lengthwise, with Ginger lying between them; Annabelle lay on her mother's other side, and Thomas sprawled out at the end of the bed. It was crowded, but cozy.

"Happily settled?" Eugene asked as his youngest daughter curled her arms around one of his own.

"Yep."

"Pretty much."

"Dad, your feet smell."

"Thanks, Thomas."

"Put a blanket over them, Tom." Rapunzel suggested, smirking.

He did as instructed and then stared at the ceiling above him. For a minute, no one spoke, and everyone watched as feathers continued to spiral through the room.

"Daddy?" Ginger mumbled.

"Yes, Ginger-snap?"

"Can you tell us a story?"

He frowned, "Really, Ginger-snap? It's kind-of late…"

"Please?" Big green eyes turned up to look at him.

Eugene smiled, "You know I can't resist that."

"Yay!"

"Okay. Okay—how about-?"

"Wait-," Rapunzel sat up, glancing around. "Where's Pascal?"

Annabelle closed her eyes, muttering, "He's a chameleon—who knows?"

"But-."

Eugene checked his pocket, "He's fine. I think he found my pocket again."

"It's weird—he never used to do that." Rapunzel slumped back down onto the bed.

"I think he likes this fabric. Okay, Ginger-snap, would you like-," he stopped talking. His youngest daughter was already asleep.

He barely raised his head to look at Thomas. His son had his arm draped across his face, clearly passed out. Eugene turned to his wife.

"Hey—blow out the candle."

"Hmmm?"

"Cut the light." He hissed.

Rapunzel did as asked and laid down as the room became dark once more. Minutes went by while the snore-ridden silence stretched on. Then, gradually, Eugene realized he was probably the last one awake.

He began to count the feathers still drifting around them. It would probably be days before they settled down entirely. Days of watching little white feathers fluttering around his ears. The maids would kill them.

Slowly, someone's hand crept over and took his, and he discovered that his wife had not fallen asleep after all. Rapunzel turned slightly as she leaned towards him, taking care not to disturb their youngest daughter. She pressed her lips briefly against the side of his head, bestowing a soft, tender kiss. Eugene smiled and ran his thumb up her wrist, clasping her hand tight within his own.

He loved that woman. And even with the snores coming from their children, and how crowded the bed was, and with the daunting possibility of a sore back that coming morning, Eugene was happy. No—he was more than happy. He was at peace.

Then there was a faint thump and a moan.

Thomas had accidentally fallen off the bed.


	15. Some waffle of a birthday

**Author Note**: Okay, first of all, I am very sorry for not having posted anything for the longest time. I really missed writing stuff-not to say that I haven't written stuff-but I haven't had the chance to sit down and really focus on something in one sitting (that's usually when I can get the most done). I've been busy as all get out with college work, birthday parties, and so on... and since Spring Break is the week after this one, all my teachers have decided to load the cannons in terms of homework (two tests, a paper, and a topic speech thing) but thankfully, I have a God who can get me through it and by the end of next week, hopefully I'll be writing again! :D Anyhoo, about this new bit-this is pretty much just fluff-but important fluff. Then again, I think that anytime spent with the Fitzherberts is important fluff, but that's because I've never really written a family dynamic (focusing on a family) before them and I'm having a blast with it! :D Thank you for your patience, your reviews, and for reading! :D You guys are amazing and I hope and pray that each one of you has a fantastic weekend! By the by, Tangled comes out in two weeks or so! :D Can't wait! :)

Oh, and as for the reference in here, I'm curious if any of you will get it... let's just say the first time I read about it, was in a book... that might narrow down your search :)

Now go ahead and read some fluff! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The princess of Corona watched as her husband slept on, smiling slightly when the light of the grey morning filtered in from between the curtains and played across his face. Today was his birthday, but he did not seem to care much at the moment. In fact, she _knew_ he did not care much, since he had told her so himself just the night before. Too bad for him she had already planned something a week in advance. But he would enjoy it. He always did.

"Sleep well, Eugene. I'll see you later." She kissed his forehead and carefully slipped out of bed as his snoring continued.

Rapunzel dressed quietly, pausing only once when Eugene mumbled something in his sleep. It sounded vaguely like 'stupid frog' and, some seconds later, 'leave my pie alone'. That was normal though. He usually had weird dreams.

"Pascal," Rapunzel whispered, looking into the closet, "where are you?"

The little chameleon poked his head out from one of her slippers—she never wore them if she could help it—and silently scurried up her outstretched arm and onto her shoulder.

Rapunzel smiled at him, "Okay. Now we'll go get Annie."

Pascal thrummed softly in agreement. Rapzunel tiptoed out of the room and into the hallway. She quietly shut the door behind her, nodding to the guard standing by the opposite wall.

"Morning, your Highness." He said, grinning.

"Good morning, Bill. Please make sure no one disturbs him. It's his birthday." She gestured at the bedroom door.

He bowed, "Of course. And a very happy birthday to his Highness."

"Thank you, I'll be sure to tell him that. Oh—and I'm getting Chef Arnold to send some cake to the guardhouse so be down there for your lunch break."

Bill's smile widened, "Thank you very much, Miss."

"You're welcome."

Rapunzel continued down the hallway, stopping at her daughter's bedroom. She opened the door, asking softly: "Annie? Are you awake?"

Pascal added an inquisitive squeak, peering into the little girl's room.

Rapunzel's four year-old daughter was sitting on her bed, waiting for her. Annabelle was usually an early riser, and she smiled as she left the bed, running over to be picked up by her mother.

"Good morning Mommy!" She said cheerfully, hugging her around her neck.

Rapunzel smoothed down her daughter's hair, replying, "Hello, Annie dear. Do you still want to help me make breakfast for Daddy's birthday?"

"Yep." Annabelle allowed herself to be set down onto her feet and took her mother's hand.

"What should we make?" Rapunzel asked, walking out into the hallway again to go towards the stairs.

Annabelle shrugged, looking up at her mother, "What does Daddy like?"

"Oh, he likes a lot of things—except fish. But we don't want to cook that for breakfast anyway. Let's see… he likes pancakes-," Annabelle shook her head, "-he likes French toast-," again, the little girl shook her head, "-he also likes waffles-," here Annabelle grinned.

"Ah, I see we have a winner." Her mother noted.

Annabelle's smile widened, "We can put strawberries on them."

"Yes—and while Daddy insists that strawberries are _my_ favorite, I think they are his too."

"They are. He always eats a lot of them—he tries to find the biggest one and put it in his mouth all the way!" She sounded amazed at her father's exploits.

Rapunzel nodded as she stepped carefully down the stairs, "He does do that, doesn't he? You know, Annie, I think waffles and strawberries will be perfect."

"And whipped cream?"

"Of course, and with some of Chef Arnold's best maple syrup."

Annabelle beamed, "Can I crack the eggs?"

"Yes dear. And you can help me turn the waffle-iron over the fire, too." She squeezed her daughter's hand.

They finished making their way down the kitchens, passing guards and discussing the recipe until they reached the door. Rapunzel and Annabelle entered the kitchens, blinking in the soft light as it filtered in from the windows set high in the wall. At the request of the princess, the head chef and his helpers had vacated the premises. They would return in time to prepare breakfast for the rest of the palace, but right now the kitchen remained quite empty and spotless.

"What's the first thing we need?" Rapunzel asked Annabelle.

She grinned, "A fire."

"Good thinking, dear. Let's start that fire."

After a minute, flames were curling and crackling in the hearth. Rapunzel finished raking the coals and carefully set the waffle iron—a square-shaped mold—over the fire to heat up.

"It will take some time to get hot enough," she said, looking at her daughter, "but by then we'll have the batter ready. Okay, Annie, go wash your hands while I get the supplies."

The little girl nodded and tugged a stool over to the sink, perching atop it to wash her hands. Rapunzel went over to the pantry, smiling as she heard her daughter singing softly to the sound of the water splashing in from the tap. It was a song her husband had taught her—some kind of nonsense song about a saucepan. Half the words were in a language she did not know, and upon asking Eugene, she found out that he had never learned what they meant. Maybe one day they could discover what the 'saucepan song' really talked about. But for now, she thought, grabbing a bag of flour and a block of yeast, they had to make waffles.

"Sosban fach… Sosban fawr…" Annabelle continued to hum the last lines of the song, watching as her mother came over to the sink to wash her own hands.

"Annie, can you go get the salt and sugar from the cabinet?" Rapunzel asked, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

She nodded and trotted off to do her bidding while Rapunzel fetched the eggs and milk from the icebox. Pascal slid down her arm and onto the table as she set her supplies down.

Annabelle came over, her arms full with the package of sugar and container of cooking salt. Her mother took the sugar and salt from her before picking the girl up and placing her on a tall stool. She smiled as her daughter grinned back.

"Almost ready, Annie. Now all we need is a mixing bowl-," she produced this from underneath the table, "-along with a measuring cup and a few spoons." Rapunzel reached into a nearby drawer and set the tools onto the tabletop. Pascal glanced up from where he had been sniffing Annabelle's proffered finger. He made a little chameleon suggestion, and the girl laughed.

"Of course, Pascal." Annabelle replied back, stroking his head. "We'll get the strawberries out later."

Rapunzel smiled, "We want them to be fresh, don't we?"

"Yes, Mommy." She agreed, accepting the egg her mother handed her.

Rapunzel moved two small cups over and came around her daughter to gently take hold of her hands from behind. She smiled, "Okay, Annie. We want to separate the yolk from the egg whites—do you remember how to do that?"

"Kinda…" She sounded concerned.

Her mother nodded, "Don't worry, I'll help you. All right. Now with a one, two," she raised the tiny hand that held the egg, "three!" Rapunzel and Annabelle simultaneously tapped the egg against the surface of the table. She then guided the little girl's thumbs to the new crack, murmuring, "Poke your thumbs in there, just lightly enough so that you can peel apart the shell, and pry it open and try to keep the yellow part from getting into the cup."

Annabelle obeyed breathlessly, carefully catching the yolk with the shell halves as the clear whites of the egg began to slip out from the sides. Rapunzel then helped her juggle the yolk from shell to shell, allowing the remaining whites to drip into the cup.

"Very good, Annie." She smiled at her daughter, dumping the yolk into the other cup. "Do you think you can do the next one?"

She already had a hand on the second egg, "Yes."

"Okay. Go ahead."

The little girl managed beautifully. Rapunzel felt a faint glow of pride rise in her heart as Annabelle dropped the second yolk into the cup.

"Fantastic. Now we need to beat the egg whites so they become fluffy." She gave her daughter a whisk and helped her whip the egg whites into a thick froth.

"Now what?" Annabelle asked, glancing up at her mother.

Rapunzel indicated the various boxes and packages on the table, "We have to get to measuring. Hold tight to the stool, dear."

Annabelle grasped the stool as Rapunzel slid it across the floor to get closer to the rest of the ingredients. She then assisted her mother with measuring out two cups of flour, getting streaks of white powder on her cheeks in the process. They dumped the flour into the big bowl and measured out the appropriate amount of sugar next.

Annabelle gazed at the white granules as they fell on top the pile of flour. With a wide smile, she breathed in the faintly dusty—but somehow delightful odor of the pure whiteness of it all.

"It smells good, Mommy!" She exclaimed, turning to watch her mother's chameleon nudge the jar of salt closer.

"Hopefully, it will taste good too. Now please throw a few pinches of salt into the bowl while I heat up the milk and melt the butter." Rapunzel turned to the fire, skillfully suspending a pan of milk over the flames.

She waited for the milk heat up and listened as her daughter explained to Pascal the other plans they had for the special birthday that day.

"…and then we're going to go shopping in the marketplace so we can get Daddy a present. He gets to pick, but Mommy and I think that what he really wants is a new pocketknife. Then we'll go eat lunch at Daddy's favorite café and watch the ships sail in."

Pascal commented with a squeak. Annabelle grinned, leaning forward and whispering, "Then we'll go on a boat ride—just the four of us. You, me, and Mommy and Daddy. We'll get to see the sun set."

"That's not all we'll do, Annie," Rapunzel reminded, coming over to pour the warm milk into another bowl. "What happens when we get back home?"

Annabelle beamed at her, answering: "Toasting marshmallows in the garden! That'll be my favorite part."

"How come?"

She smiled, "'Cause then Daddy will tell us a story."

"But it's _his_ birthday. Shouldn't we tell him a story instead?" She headed back to the fire to melt the butter.

"I don't know any stories." Annabelle replied doubtfully.

"Yes you do, dear. You have a book full of them in your room."

She frowned, "But he's told me those before."

Rapunzel smiled and returned to drop the butter into the bowl with the milk. "Yes, but _you've_ never told them to _him_, before. I'm sure he'd love it."

"Do you really think so?"

She nodded, setting her hand tenderly underneath her daughter's chin, "Yes, I do, Annie. I really do think Daddy would love it."

"What's next?" Annabelle asked, watching as her mother slipped the egg yolks into the bowl of wet ingredients.

"We mix this up," she passed the container to her, along with a spoon. "And then we'll put it in with the flour."

While her daughter stirred industriously at the mixture in her bowl, Rapunzel cut off the right amount of yeast from the package and dropped it into the bowl with the dry ingredients. Then she took over the stirring while Annabelle gazed, fascinated, at how fast her mother's arm moved.

"You're very good at that, Mommy." She said, clearly impressed.

"So are you, Annie." Rapunzel replied as she finished. "But practice helps as well. Now, we just need to mix this in with the flour, sugar, yeast and salt."

She pushed the bowl over and dumped the wet ingredients upon the dry ones. Annabelle seized hold of the spoon and her mother set her hand over hers.

"Okay," Rapunzel whispered into her daughter's ear, "ready, set… stir!"

They turned the spoon around and around the bowl, mixing carefully. Rapunzel could hear her daughter counting each stir under her breath, and she smiled. The little girl always paid attention to details when it came to cooking. It was amazing how much she could pick up after just one hour in the kitchen. She wondered how much more Annabelle would learn from several hours, and made a mental note to ask the head chef about cooking lessons.

"All right, now we don't want to mix it up too much because we want to keep the batter loose enough to spread around. Let's add in the egg whites," Rapunzel reached around and grabbed the cup of fluffy whites, dumping them into the bowl. "Stir a bit more—just a little bit… and… we're done."

Annabelle studied the batter, grinning, "_This_ will be waffles?"

"Eventually." Rapunzel helped her daughter down from the stool. "Now, Annie, please go over to the fire. But don't touch anything."

"Yes, ma'am." She toddled obediently over to the fire and took a seat on the chair beside the hearth.

Rapunzel measured out a cup of the waffle mix before coming over to the fire. She deftly wrapped a cloth around the handle of the waffle iron and opened it, pouring the batter into the mold. Then she closed the iron, turned it, and asked her daughter to come over.

"Set your hands on the handle dear—around the cloth so you don't get burned. Okay, and now we wait for a few minutes." Rapunzel took a seat in the chair, her daughter in her lap, and they both held the waffle iron over the fire.

Pascal climbed up onto Rapunzel's shoulder, squeaking to her. Annabelle shook her head, looking fixedly at the waffle iron. "We have to be very still, Pascal. The waffle needs to get hot."

Rapunzel glanced at her daughter, surprised to hear such firm concentration in her little voice. Annabelle had a distinct expression of concern on her face, her eyes focused on the flames heating up the iron. It was incredibly endearing, and she felt a rush of affection for the girl.

Rapunzel bent down and kissed her head, murmuring softly, "I love you, Annie dear."

Annabelle looked up at her, smiling.

"You are my wonderful little girl." Her mother whispered.

Annabelle's smile widened, and the dimples her father was so fond of became more pronounced. She looked absolutely adorable.

"All right, sweetie. I think this waffle's done." Rapunzel and Annabelle rose to their feet, taking the waffle iron carefully over to the counter and releasing the pastry onto a plate. It was a golden-brown, perfectly squared, crisp and fluffy waffle.

"It's so pretty!" Annabelle exclaimed as her mother showed her their masterpiece.

Rapunzel set the plate back onto the counter, responding, "And it's only one of many. Would you like to pour the next cup?"

Her daughter nodded vigorously.

So it was that several minutes passed by on idle wings, and gradually the waffle stack grew higher and higher. As they waited for the waffles to bake, Rapunzel and Annabelle talked about cooking or sang phrases of the saucepan song while speculating on what the words meant. Eventually, however, they had emptied the bowl of batter and around sixteen waffles were sitting on the plate.

"Wow." Rapunzel stared at the pile uncertainly. "I knew there would be a lot of waffles but—I don't think your father can handle sixteen…"

"We can help him." Annabelle said confidently.

"I suppose we'll have to. But I think if we leave at least half of these here, someone will eat them." She neatly set eight waffles onto another plate and scooted it aside.

Pascal made an impatient squeaking noise, jumping down from Rapunzel's shoulder to the table. He scurried over to where Annabelle was perched on the stool and muttered to her in his reptilian language.

"Mommy, Pascal wants to help with the strawberries."

Rapunzel emerged from the pantry with a small box of strawberries, replying, "I know. He likes to eat the tops after we've cut them off."

Annabelle watched her mother rinse the fruit clean and then come over to the table, knife in hand. Rapunzel skillfully scalped each strawberry off and Annabelle, just as skillfully, dangled the discarded tops in front of Pascal's nose. The chameleon zipped out his tongue, eagerly nabbing each piece of fruit as the little girl laughed in delight.

"Annie, can you help me put these strawberries on the waffles?" Rapunzel pushed the bowl of strawberries and plate of waffles towards her daughter.

After giving Pascal the last strawberry top, Annabelle proceeded to assist her mother with decorating the teetering stack of pastries. It did not take long before strawberries lined each tiny rut in the topmost waffle while many more encircled the pile.

"Now all that's left is the presentation." Rapzunel said, going to one of the cupboards and pulling out a tray.

Annabelle adjusted one of the strawberries as she asked, "Presentation?"

"To make it look nice," her mother explained, setting the tray down and placing the plate of waffles upon it. "Annie, can you get me three forks?"

She nodded, pulling open a drawer under the table and selecting the requested utensils. Rapunzel poured a glass of milk, placing it on the tray as her daughter set the forks beside the plate of waffles.

"Okay, what are we missing?" Rapunzel asked, looking at Annabelle.

The little girl smiled, "Syrup!"

"Correct. We just need Chef Arnold's famous maple syrup and now-," she set the pitcher of syrup onto the tray before lifting the entire thing in her hands, "-we'll go see if Daddy is awake yet."

Annabelle allowed Pascal to climb onto her arm, asking, "But what if he isn't?"

"Then we'll just have to go wake him up." Rapunzel said as she and her daughter exited the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the king of Corona trotted into the kitchen to make his morning cup of coffee. He stopped, staring at the extra plate of waffles left unclaimed on the counter. A slow smile crossed his face, and he glanced upward, muttering, "Ah, Providence. You have blessed me, yet again. Thank You."

* * *

The door of the royal bedroom opened and a rather confused Eugene walked into the sitting room, wondering where his wife had gone. His hair was untidy from sleep and he was yawning as he entered, wearing a wrinkled shirt and set of pants. Then he spotted the mini-party by the coffee table, and he smiled, "What's this?"

Annabelle sprinted over to him, exclaiming, "Happy Birthday, Daddy!"

Eugene easily swung her up into his arms, remarking drowsily, "Why thank you, darling." He buzzed his lips against her cheek, thrumming 'happy birthday'.

The little girl giggled, "Daddy, that tickles."

He feigned disbelief, asking, "It _does_?"

She nodded.

"Well, I suppose I have to keep doing it then." He grinned, renewing the attack to an encore of bubbling laughter.

Eventually, Annabelle pulled away to explain seriously, "Me and Mommy made waffles for you. With-," she leaned forward, whispering into his ear, "-_strawberries_."

"Strawberries? Wow. Waffles _and_ strawberries," Eugene declared happily. "I have the best two girls in the world."

"So you say." Rapunzel replied, coming over to lay her hand on his arm.

"So I _know_. Good morning, my Rapunzel." Eugene kissed his wife lightly, drawing back to comment: "You're getting sweeter by the day."

She smiled, "Happy Birthday, Eugene."

"Thank you."

"Daddy, you've got to see the strawberries we found." Annabelle said as he and Rapunzel walked over to the couch.

Eugene sat down, balancing his daughter on his knee while his wife took a seat beside him. He looked at Annabelle, "Okay, Annie, show me these terrific strawberries."

She slipped off his knee to snatch a strawberry from his plate and clambered back up beside him. Annabelle proudly brandished the fruit, proclaiming, "It's the biggest ever!"

Her father nodded, eyes wide, "That is a big strawberry. Think it'll fit in my mouth?"

"Try."

Eugene leaned down and allowed his daughter to pop the fruit into his mouth. He chewed dramatically, making satisfied humming noises and rolling his eyes in ecstasy. Then he gave a loud, gulping swallow.

"Mmm, delicious and humongous, just the way I like them."

She smiled and clambered back onto his knee as her mother reached down to pick up the plate.

Rapunzel handed the plate to Eugene, grinning slightly at the stunned look crossing his face.

"Are there _eight_ waffles on here?"

"We may have overdone the batch a bit."

He smirked, "I'd say. I sure hope you plan to help me eat these."

"And ruin my girlish figure?" Eugene raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. "All right."

Rapunzel took the offered fork and watched as he dribbled syrup over the waffle stack. Eugene glanced at his daughter, remarking, "Okay, Annie. This is how you eat a waffle."

He carefully dug his fork into the topmost pastry, cutting out a neat triangle complete with strawberry, and slipped it into his mouth. Annabelle waited for him to finish chewing before she asked, "Do you like it?"

Eugene held up a hand to stay her question, and instead took a gulp of milk.

"_Eugene_." Rapunzel muttered warningly, poking her husband in the side.

He looked from one to the other, considering his answer. Then he said: "These are the most-," he grinned, down at Annabelle, "-_amazing_ waffles I have ever eaten. You both have outdone yourselves."

"You really like it Daddy? Yay!" Annabelle hugged him around his middle, aglow with happiness.

Eugene looked at his wife, grunting, "She's got your hugging skills down pat, dear."

"Naturally." Rapunzel replied easily.

"Do you know what? I think that today will be my favorite birthday."

"You said that last time." His wife said with a smile.

He shrugged, "Well, every new birthday I have is my new favorite."

Annabelle giggled, straightening in her seat, "You're silly, Daddy."

Her father chuckled, "Silly is as silly does. Besides, I hang around you silly girls so much it's starting to rub off."

Rapunzel smirked, "You don't complain much."

"Why should I? I love spending time with you both. And anyway-," he took another bite of his breakfast, "-I like waffles."


	16. The prince gets a horse

**Author Note**: Sooo... Spring Break is basically here for me! :D Yay! :D haha :) Anyhoo, this story is a bit different considering it's written about future years rather than the past or the 'present' of 'This is the Story'. The next one-shot is not going to follow this one, as it will most likely take place in the past. However, I hope you guys enjoy this just the same and understand that things will be cleared up a bit. So thank you for waiting, reading, and reviewing! :D May God bless you all :D

P.S. I know that in the movie, Maximus is not shown to be, um, shall we say 'intact'... however, it's a fanfiction and I figured that it would not be fair to let Eugene have kids and not let Maximus have any... :D and I will try to include him more in other shots rather than just the cameo in this one... :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The prince consort of Corona and his twelve year-old son walked down to the palace stables in the early afternoon. A few years previously, Maximus had sired a strong, male foal. The colt was just above two years old now. He would be ready to ride in a few more months. Eugene, after conferring with his wife, had decided to introduce the colt to his rider some time in advance.

"Dad, why are we going down to the stables again?"

Eugene glanced at his son, once again amazed at how much he had grown over the last summer. Thomas had sprung up like a weed—a lean, healthy weed that would, as Rapunzel constantly teased her husband, be taller than him in the future. The boy's face had also grown more defined as his baby fat disappeared, and he looked rather like his father in a Thomas kind-of way. To cap it all off, in recent weeks his voice was beginning to strain—cracking occasionally and making his sisters laugh. He was beginning to grow up.

"Dad—_hello_?" Thomas tapped his father on the arm, wondering why he seemed so lost in thought.

Eugene shook his head, muttering, "Sorry. Um, do you remember, a few years back, that Maximus got a bit friendly with one of the mares and then she gave birth to a foal?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember that."

"Well, he's about two years old now and your mother and I thought you should probably get to know him."

His son raised an eyebrow, asking croakily, "Why?"

Eugene shrugged, "Every prince of Corona is given a horse upon reaching his thirteenth year—it's tradition. We're just starting a little early, that's all."

"But I already have a horse—Boulder." The boy pointed out.

"That's Sergeant Morgan's horse, not yours."

Thomas frowned in concern, "But I like Boulder."

"You'll like Maximus II better." His father replied as they passed through the side-gate of the palace to head down to the wooded fields beyond.

"The second?"

Eugene nodded, "He looks too much like his father not to name him after him. Max, Jr. is an option too, but the stable-hands think Maximus II is more dignified."

"I think I'll just call him Max—if that's okay with you."

"He's _your_ horse, Thomas. You can call him Mr. Ed for all I care. But-," Eugene smiled as they approached the royal stables, "-first, you need to be introduced."

* * *

The stables were comprised of three buildings all attached to one another in the form of a capital letter 'H'. The middle building was the storage place, offices and rooms for the horse-groomers, while the two side buildings served as abodes for the royal family's horses. Being residents of an island city, the royal family did not have a need for a great amount of horses close to home. The other, much larger stables were kept a few miles away from the city while the horses of the Palace Guard remained in a set of mews near the guardhouse at the wharf.

There _were_ exceptions, however…

"Hello, Maximus." Eugene greeted the huge, white horse standing in the first stall.

The horse gave him a curt nod and grunted. He had grown to accept Eugene in the last several years. After all, as the old argument went, the man _had_ returned the lost princess. It was hard to deny some respect to him—if only a smidgeon's worth.

Thomas gazed around the stables as his father exchanged pleasantries with the horse. He had always liked these buildings. The smell of the hay, of the horses, and even of manure was somehow a welcome change from the fragrance of marble and carpeting in the palace. It seemed to be calmer and more comfortable—more filled with life. Recently, he had taken to spending his free time down here. He chatted with the stable-hands, brushed the horses, and rode Boulder who, apparently, was no longer his to ride. He felt a sense of freedom here he could never quite achieve anywhere else. And he loved it.

"Thomas?"

"Yeah Dad?" Thomas turned to face his father.

Eugene gestured to the whiskered horse-groomer over at another stall, "Berkley's going to take you out to see Max II. I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

"Yes sir."

Berkley smiled as his prince approached him. He took off his cap and bowed, "Good afternoon, your Highness."

"Good afternoon sir," Thomas nodded respectfully. "You're supposed to take me out to see Max?"

The stable-hand's smile wavered, and he gave an uneasy jerk of his head, "Well… I still don't think it's really a good idea but-," Eugene waved at him, "-if it's your Highnesses' wishes, so be it. Just—be warned that Maximus II has not quite gotten over his, um… hereditary impulses."

"Sir?"

"You'll find out. Follow me, please, Prince Thomas."

The boy glanced curiously back at his father, but Eugene had disappeared. Thomas shrugged and walked after Berkley, grinning to a few of the other stable-hands. They strode in and out of the sunshine streaming from the high-set windows, heading towards the open doors. He and the horse-groomer marched out into the spacious, fenced yard outside the stables.

Sunrays beamed brightly down from overhead and a soft, sea breeze whistled through the surrounding trees. Centuries ago, the stables had been built amid an apple orchard—though the men who cared for the horses made sure that no trees were _too_ close to the yard. This was done simply because fat, unhealthy steeds were never that attractive, and Corona had a reputation to uphold.

Berkley narrowed his eyes, "Maximus II! You stop trying to get that apple!"

The young horse looked guiltily away from where he had been straining over the fence to steal an apple from a nearby tree. He was a good-looking horse—white coated and haired like his father as well as the same physique—though he still had some development left before he was fully mature. His eyes were brown and Thomas saw that there was a faint patch of grey beneath his forelock that Maximus definitely did not have. Other than that—the two animals looked exactly the same.

"You have trouble keeping him away from the trees, sir?" Thomas asked, smirking slightly as the horse trotted warily over.

Berkley nodded, "He's the worst one. And he's spirited. Um-," he scratched the back of his neck apprehensively, "-are you completely sure you want to see him?"

"No. But Dad said I should, so…" He shrugged. "I mean—it's not like he's going to try to _kill_ me or something."

The stable-hand smiled a weak smile, "We can only hope."

"Can I go pet him?" Thomas was curious about this horse. He wanted to see what kind of animal he was.

"Yeah. Yeah, go ahead."

The crown prince walked casually over the horse, remaining quiet and calm just like Berkley had taught him. Maximus II cocked his head and stepped back slightly, still unsure about this new arrival. Neither one noticed that Eugene had taken a seat on the fence and was starting to watch them with an amused grin.

Then Thomas smiled slightly and reached out a hand to touch the animal's nose.

"Hey there, Ma—argh!" He jerked his arm away, yelping as Maximus II snapped his horsey teeth in the space where his hand had been.

Maximus II's ears were tightly laid flat against his head, and he pawed at the ground anxiously, glaring at the boy. He grunted, muttering something in horse language that was probably not a very nice word.

Thomas glanced around to find that Berkley had gone back indoors. Now, Thomas knew the palace horses—he had been able to ride one since he was seven. Normally they did not react this way. Maybe he was just approaching the horse a little too fast than was comfortable?

He gingerly extended his hand again, going slower this time. Maximus II stared at him, his eyes rolling back to reveal the whites.

"That's not a good sign." Thomas muttered, his voice squeaking on the last two words as he backed away from the animal.

Unfortunately, the horse moved closer to him, even as he stepped backwards. Maximus shifted from forward to back, neighing loudly. He was agitated for some reason. He did not want this strange person to come any closer. He smelled—he smelled suspicious.

Thomas held up his hands, "I'm going—I'm going…"

Suddenly, the horse charged.

The crown prince had about three seconds to make the decision to turn left and bolt for it. He raced towards the stable doors, but was blocked as the horse wheeled around to face him. Maximus II flared his nostrils, cocking his head.

Thomas took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

"Are you going to pet him, Thomas?" Eugene called abruptly, alerting his son to his presence.

He wrinkled his forehead and slid his eyes over, "What? Dad—this guy's angrier than anything. I wouldn't dare-."

"He's stopped now."

Thomas looked back at the horse, amazed to find him grazing peacefully a few feet away. He shook his head, "He was just—but he was-."

Eugene shrugged, "You stopped being a threat to him. Now go and introduce yourself again."

"But-."

"Come on, Thomas," Eugene smiled. "You can handle a horse."

His son sighed, "Dad, I don't think he likes me."

"Go and try again."

"All right. But if I get hurt, _you_ get to explain to Mom what happened."

"Done and done."

Thomas carefully moved towards Maximus II again, keeping his eyes on the horse's muscles and his own stance unthreatening. The horse did not tense in the slightest when he was within six inches of him. But once Thomas laid his hand on his back, Maximus II retaliated.

He shoved the boy away, knocking him backward onto the ground before cantering off in the other direction. Thomas lay in the dirt, gazing up at the startling blue sky. He had _never_ been struck down by a horse before.

Eugene watched his son rise to his feet and asked, "You all right, Thomas?"

"Dad, I seriously think this is a bad ide—ahhh!" He yelled and began to run as Maximus II darted towards him.

The horse reached out to clip his mouth expertly on the boy's sleeve—not his arm—and tugged him to the ground again. Then he nickered in satisfaction before kicking a bit of sand upon his master.

"Wow," Eugene mused as the young stallion tripped smugly away. "He's worse than Maximus ever was."

Thomas got up again, looking at his father, his eyes wide. "Did he just _laugh_ at me?"

"Looks like it."

"Oh no—_no_ way." Thomas growled through gritted teeth. "He is _not_ getting that chance again."

The boy unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, glaring at Maximus II as the horse congratulated himself with a few more nickers.

"Maybe the aggressive approach isn't the best way to go?" Eugene suggested.

"Dad, I am prince of Corona. No _horse_ is going to laugh at me."

He shrugged, "Okay."

Thomas made his way over to Maximus II again, setting his face in a determined scowl. The horse returned the scowl, but the boy could see a sinister glee in those equine eyes. This made him even more irritated at the animal.

"Max," Thomas pointed at him, "you are _my_ horse. And _my_ horse does not beat me up."

Maximus II clacked his teeth in protest and made to charge again.

His master grinned and prepared himself, challenging, "Bring it, Snickers."

The horse thundered forward, his hooves pounding across the earth. Thomas sprang out of the way just in time as Maximus II galloped past. He nearly fell down again by force of the wind from the horse's motion. The animal was _strong_. But instead of causing fear, this knowledge only made Thomas more excited. Imagine what it would feel like to ride that creature… it would be like flying.

Then Maximus II came around again, and Thomas leapt towards him, throwing his arms about the horse's great neck. He tried to clamber upon his back, but was cast off as Maximus II heaved to the right. Thomas fell back on the earth, rolling in the sparse grass of the arena. He pushed himself up from the ground, spitting out dust and dry turf. His enemy stared at him and waited for the next move. There was a dangerous air in the way his tail was swishing from side to side.

Good, Thomas thought grimly. Maximus II was just as annoyed as he was, now.

The crown prince rolled his shoulders and, instead of waiting for the horse to come to him, he ran straight for the animal. Maximus II reared and dodged Thomas, but not before he had seized hold of his mane. Tossing his head with an angry snort, the horse once again sent the boy flying to the ground. Yet, without a second's hesitation, Thomas jumped up and again tried to climb onto Maximus II's back. He slipped off as Maximus II sprinted away, but he managed to remain on his feet this time.

Eugene nodded in satisfaction, "Good job, Thomas."

His son panted, wiping the sand from his mouth, "I still haven't got him yet."

"But you're letting him know that you _will_. And with the type of relationship you two are going to have-," Maximus II ran forward again, "-that's a necessary step." Eugene smiled as Thomas dove to the side, allowing the horse to rush by him.

Unfortunately, he was unable to get up in time and Maximus II immediately came over. But then he stopped short, his great sides rising as he breathed. His wet brown eyes were trained on Thomas's. He was waiting for him to stand up.

"Okay, Max." Thomas grinned slightly as he stood. "Let's try this again."

Maximus II answered with a neigh and swung his head, galloping away to turn around and confront his master. Thomas responded by following him doggedly. And soon they were both locked in a continuous dance—the horse jogging to the right and left while the boy obstructed him in each direction he turned. In frustration, Maximus II dashed towards his master again, and Thomas wrapped his arms about his neck for the second time.

He quickly hoisted himself up onto the animal's back, holding onto his mane for dear life as Maximus II tried to throw him off. It only lasted for a span of seconds, but Thomas reveled in how easily the horse moved and how powerful his muscles flexed underneath him. His assumption had been right—this felt like flying. And then he was, once again, shrugged off into the dirt.

But he got up again.

The following hour or so was spent in combat, of a sort. Both contenders were young, slightly stupid, and stubborn. Neither would allow their adversary to triumph through defeat, and nor would they surrender. It was a contest of will and strength—and the horse and boy had the exact same amount blazing within them.

Eugene watched the battle as it progressed, very impressed with the skills his son had _obviously_ inherited from him. But, as Thomas picked himself up for the fiftieth time, Eugene could see his son's energy had started to wane. After all, he was just a boy. Maximus II was a horse.

Perhaps now he should give Thomas the secret weapon to success.

"Thomas!" He shouted as his son attempted to get on the horse's back again.

"Yeah?"

"Get over here!"

Thomas released Maximus II's neck and dropped onto the earth. He staggered over to his father, his face dirty, his clothes filthy and torn, and several new bruises and scratches littering his body. He was exhausted, and he leaned against the fence, head thrown back and gasping for air as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Eugene rubbed his son's sweaty head, muttering, "I think you should probably call it a day."

Thomas groaned, "I can't—I've got to beat him."

"Tom, you're going to wear yourself out. You already _have_ worn yourself out."

"But Dad…" he shut his eyes tightly, trying to clear his mind. He took a deep breath, muttering, "If Max doesn't get it now, he never will. And I just can't do it, Dad. I've tried everything I can think of. I mean-," he shuffled wearily away from the fence, gesturing at the animal watching them from across the yard. "I'm not as strong as he is."

His father shook his head, "You don't have to be. But you can still try."

Thomas gaped at him, "_Dad_? Have you not seen what I've been doing? I'm sore—I smell like sweaty animal and sweaty human and dirt—and I'm about ready to collapse." He sucked in some more air, replying hoarsely, "He's not the horse for me. _Please_ don't make me go out there again."

"Okay. You can go get cleaned up and I'll fetch Berkley." Eugene replied quietly.

His son nodded and began to head back to the stables, when his father called after him.

"Hey Thomas."

Thomas turned around, catching the apple that had just been thrown to him. He stared at the fruit in his hands before glancing up.

"What on earth am I supposed to do with this?"

"You might get an idea." Eugene said, smiling slightly as Maximus II trotted eagerly up to stand behind his master.

Thomas suddenly noticed the animal behind him. He gulped, backing away.

"Dad—Dad he-," the boy frowned, seeing the animal's eyes focusing on the fruit in his hand. "He's…"

His father's smile widened, "Not trying to kill you?"

"_No_."

Nervously, Thomas held out the apple. He closed his eyes, sure that any second now he would be reduced to one hand like his Uncle Albert. But then he felt something amazing.

Maximus II was eating the apple. Maximus II was snorting in his hand, his hot breath puffing against his skin, and he was not trying to hurt him.

And then something even more amazing happened.

The horse turned his eyes up expectantly to gaze at his master's stunned face.

"I think he wants another one." Eugene murmured.

"But I don't have—hey-," Thomas laughed somewhat as Maximus II nuzzled his pockets, trying to find another apple.

"Here you go." Eugene gave his son a second apple, which he then promptly presented before Maximus II.

His horse whinnied happily and began to scarf down the apple with gusto. Thomas laughed again. But then his expression of surprised delight turned into one of shock. He shot a glare at his father.

"You _knew_? All along you knew that an—an-?"

"Apple?" Eugene handed him another apple to appease the hungry Maximus II.

Thomas allowed his horse to grab the fruit, demanding of his father: "But why didn't you tell me?"

The prince consort shrugged, "You had to learn. I mean, granted, you may be a bit scuffed up and tired—but you fought it out to the end. You proved you're capable of endurance, Thomas. And what's more-," he smiled as Maximus II snuffled affectionately into his son's ear, "-you managed to gain respect from Max, Jr."

"Okay. And how does an apple-?"

"Don't know, but Maximus is the same way. I think it must be something in their genetics. Apples make them friendly." Eugene patted Maximus II on the head, receiving a faint grunt in return.

"And he's my horse now?" Thomas asked, rubbing a hand absently against the animal's sweat-dampened neck.

"Well, you'll still have to do a bit of bonding and you'll have to learn to take care of him. If he's _truly_ going to be yours, you need to be willing to put in the effort. But I think you've proved that you're prepared to go to any length to get the job done. Just-," his father handed him the canteen of water he had brought with him, "-don't kill yourself in the process."

"Mom's going to be _so_ mad at you." Thomas smirked, downing the water.

"Probably. But I did tell her I was taking you down to see Max, Jr. today. And that's what you did."

"Whatever. Just make sure I'm out of the room before she finds her frying pan."

* * *

"You did_ WHAT_?"

Eugene held up his hands defensively, "Honey, he's okay. The doctor said all he needs is some rest and a few bandages and-."

Rapunzel glared at him, "_Eugene_! You do _not_ send my son out to get beaten up by a young horse just so he can learn a lesson! Poor Tom didn't even _have_ to learn a lesson! For goodness' sake, Eugene, he can barely stand!"

"He'll be fine." Her husband replied, watching as she continued to pace up and down in the hallway outside the infirmary.

"_He_ might be, but I hardly doubt _you_ will be!"

"Rapunzel, Thomas is getting older and-."

"You were supposed to keep him from getting hurt!"

He nodded, "I did. I made perfectly sure that Max, Jr. was not going to trample him or-."

"Eugene! ARGH!" Rapunzel vented out her exasperation to the ceiling, howling in outrage.

"Sweetheart-."

She jabbed a pointy finger in his chest, retorting, "Don't you 'sweetheart' me, Eugene! And don't you ever—I repeat—_ever_, pull some crazy stunt like that again!"

"Rapunzel, please listen to me." He placed his hands on her shoulders, preventing her from renewing her pacing again. "Thomas is quite okay. I wasn't going to let anything horrible happen to him, and you know that. He's fine."

"But—but…"

"I know you love our son and I do too. However, he _is_ growing up and he's going to need to start doing a few dangerous but necessary things." He grinned slightly, "You know—dangerous but necessary things like talking to girls his own age."

Rapunzel's glare lessened in its intensity at this small bit of humor. She sighed, "I know that. But couldn't you have thought up a safer way to do things?"

He shrugged, "Probably could've. And I am sorry for not being completely honest with you about my intentions. That was a bad idea, as evidenced by your shriek of horror when you saw Thomas."

"At least he was smiling." Rapunzel admitted softly.

"Sure was. And, would you believe it, our boy held his own against that horse for around an hour and a half? For a twelve year-old, that kid is pretty amazing."

"He gets it from his father."

Eugene grinned.

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "Both of you are far too dense to know when to quit."

Her husband laughed, "Okay, I get it. No more idiotic attempts to teach Thomas a lesson about endurance—which, as you know, he's going to need when he's king."

"He's not king yet, Eugene. He still has a chance to stretch a bit more before he's faced with that."

"Decisions, choices, judgments-," Eugene grinned at his wife, "-why can't life be more simple?"

"Because then it wouldn't be called 'life'. Anyway, speaking of decisions—Stan wants to ask you a question later this evening." She patted him on the chest before turning back to go into the infirmary. "Tell him 'yes'."

Her husband tilted his head, smiling, "'Yes'? 'Yes' to what?"

"You can probably guess that if you think hard enough."

Eugene grinned again.

And then his eyes widened as realization dawned upon him with the force of a sledgehammer.

Stanley was going to ask him a question involving a yes or no answer.

And he was supposed to say 'yes'.

For a second, he felt his heart stop.

"Annie."


	17. The fight

**Author Note**: This one-shot is not particularly humorous. It has a seriousness in it that I feel is important to the characters and to the readers who have grown to care about them. Basically, it's proof that not even the marriages that seem perfect are perfect. Because humans make mistakes, and I hope that you all feel that these characters (though they are not mine) are human. I don't know if everyone will appreciate it... or even anyone will. But I feel that it's important. Thank you for waiting, reading, and reviewing! :) May you all have a fantastic and very Happy Sunday! :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Eugene glared at his feet. They were smushed uncomfortably against the opposite armrest of the couch in his sitting room. His knees were drawn up due to his inability to lie down on the small sofa, and his back hunched slightly as he slouched against the other armrest. How was a grown man of reasonable height supposed to get any sleep on this stupid piece of furniture? He would much rather be sleeping in his own bed—his king-sized, extremely cozy bed.

But, of course, he had apparently forfeited that right just a few hours ago.

With a groan, Eugene stood and plodded over to the fireplace to stoke the burning coals. He had not been allowed to grab his pajamas from his closet, so he still wore his work-clothes: a now heavily-wrinkled dress shirt and pair of breeches. He had tried to alleviate his discomfort by unbuttoning his shirt at the throat and by folding his cuffs back. It helped little, however.

Eugene moodily poked at the fire with a slender metal instrument, the heat washing over his scowling face. He was not happy. After all, not only had he been thrown out of his own room, but he had also been shouted at beforehand. Not only was he dealing with foreign issues, he was also dealing with domestic ones. Not only had he just had a fight with his wife—he had just had a fight with his _wife_.

He went over to the windows and pressed his forehead against the cool glass, gazing out at the night darkness.

It had been an absolutely miserable week for the both of them. First, Annabelle had gotten sick and had been running a fever, throwing up, and feeling horrible all around. Next, Thomas—fifteen month-old Thomas—had gotten an ear infection and cried through every night. Then of course their third child—whoever that would be—was making Rapunzel irritated at every little thing. She was only a few months in, but his wife had never handled pregnancy well. She hated being impaired from doing what she wanted to do. And, to top it all off, Corona was experiencing difficulties in foreign affairs, which added to the problem by increasing workloads for everyone in charge of the kingdom.

How could life get so complicated so quickly? How could perfect peace and happiness that had been going on for nearly eight years be disrupted within a span of three unfortunate weeks? What had gone wrong?

* * *

A couple of hours earlier, the princess of Corona was sitting by her desk at the window, reading through the report she had just written up. She sighed and glanced over at the cradle where her son was moaning fitfully in his sleep. Then she looked at the small clock on her desk. It was nine thirty.

Suddenly, her husband entered the room, shutting the door loudly and announcing, "_That_ was a positively awful day."

Rapunzel glared at him, "Eugene, be quiet. I only just got Tom to sleep."

"Oh, sorry." Eugene muttered, going over to his dresser to remove his jacket and vest.

His wife filed her report and straightened in her chair, asking stiffly, "Why are you late _again_, Eugene?"

"I had some extra paperwork I had to take care of—country problems don't solve themselves, you know."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I'm aware of that. However, I distinctly remember asking you to set your work aside early so you could help me with the children."

"You've got servants and the doctors, why would you need my-."

"I thought-," Rapunzel started coldly, "-considering that _you_ are their father, that it would be more appropriate to have your help. Apparently I thought wrong."

Eugene shrugged wearily, "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was such a big deal."

Rapunzel's eyes narrowed, "What are you talking about, Eugene? Of course it's a big deal! These are our _children_!"

He gritted his teeth, trying to remain patient. It would not be healthy to add wood to the fire of a pregnant woman. Eugene turned around, plastering a smile on his face.

"I know that, dearest, but I was busy. I had several forms and laws I had to take a look at and I went and talked to your father for an hour about the problems in the Midlands."

"Meanwhile, I had to go attend another meeting—by _myself_—with the council and discuss other matters with those stuffy old men while Annie's been stomach sick and Tom is barely recovering from his ear infection!"

Eugene tilted his head, remarking pointedly, "Like I said, you could get the servants to help."

"And like _I_ said, Eugene, you could come and hold up your end of the bargain!" Rapunzel retorted, standing up and striding over to him.

He gave up on patience. If she wanted to argue, fine, he would argue.

"What bargain? I had work to do!"

"Eugene, you've had work to do for the past several weeks! You've been waking up early—leaving me alone with the kids and not to mention my own work—and holing yourself up in your office doing who knows what until two in the morning! You haven't seen Annie for three days!"

"I've been trying to solve a bigger problem!" He protested, holding out his hands helplessly.

"Bigger than your own _family_, Eugene?"

He grasped his hair in frustration, snarling, "No—just—the world is falling apart right now and I'm trying to make sure it doesn't affect Corona!"

Rapunzel laughed sarcastically, "Oh, _that's_ what you've been doing? Okay, let me tell you what _I've_ been doing all this time. I've been-"

Eugene shook his head, interrupting angrily, "You don't have to tell me that. All you've been doing is getting sick—every-single-morning! Not only do the kids have to be sick—_you_ have to be sick as well! Do you know how hard it is to sleep when-?"

"As if it's my fault!" His wife snapped back. "If you remember, I told you—right after Thomas was born—that two children were enough!"  
He clenched his fists, "And I agreed! But now we're having another one and yet you seem unable to handle it! What's wrong with you?"

Her eyes widened, "What's wrong with _me_? What's wrong with _you_? You've been avoiding me for days—all the while claiming you're working!"

"I _have_ been working! But even if I was avoiding you I don't see what the big deal is because right now I don't think anybody would want to be around a—a-."

"A what, Eugene? A what?" Rapunzel demanded, her voice spiky with infuriation.

"A-."

"A bloated whale?"

He frowned, "What—I never said-."

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it?" She asked of her stammering husband. "That's what you're _always_ thinking! Even though half of it—if not _all_ of it—is your fault!"

Eugene's shoulders tensed, jabbing a finger to himself, "Oh, _my_ fault is it? And I suppose it's my fault that you've been wanting me to do nothing but spend time with you while the kingdom's going to the dogs?"

"Yes! Yes it's your fault because you have a _responsibility_! You have a job to do Eugene and you're not doing it!"

"Yes I am!" He bellowed at the top of his voice. "I'm spending hours in that little cramped office trying to do your job _and_ mine while you moan and groan and deal with the kids when you could just simply ask-."

Rapunzel shot a fiery glare up at the ceiling, shrieking, "I have asked! I ask all the time! But all you do is come home, fall into bed and snore the rest of the night away. _Who's_ been staying up with Tom, trying to get him to stop crying? _Who's_ been taking care of Annie? _Who's_ carrying the third child right now and has to have hormones raging and all other kinds of problems while also sitting in on meetings that we're supposed to attend _together_? I do!"

Eugene shook his head, snapping, "No you don't! All you do is want! All any woman ever does is want and complain and nag! And now, when I come back after a long day at work seeking some small bit of comfort, my wife jumps on me and starts shouting at me and pointing out every mistake I've been making—all of which I've made while trying my hardest to handle the crisis that's plaguing _your_ kingdom!

"And I can't see the kids, and I can't see you, and I can't do anything anymore because _everyone_ wants a piece of me! If it's not the king, it's the council—and if it's not the council, it's the trade representatives—if it's not the representatives it's the army officers—and if it's not the officers, it's _you_! And you want the biggest piece of all! And I can't take it anymore!"  
She waved her arm, replying sharply, "Fine then! If you can't take anymore then why don't you just leave?"

"Because if I leave then everything will collapse! Can't you see it, Rapunzel—I've got way to much to think about without you strangling me every time you get the chance!"

"That's it! That is it! Someone is going to sleep on the couch tonight and it's _not_ going to be me!"

Eugene shrugged mockingly, "Then I guess it's me, then! But that's okay! I'd rather sleep on the couch than share a bed with an angry bloated whale anyhow!"

She stared at him, shocked at what he had just said. Then, with a loud 'smack!' she slapped him across the face, howling, "Just go!"

"Fine!"

Face stinging, he marched over to the door, yanked it open, and walked out, slamming it shut behind him.

Rapunzel gazed at the door, breathing hard as her furor rose to a boiling point. And then it plunged from the strain, and she bowed her head and began to cry.

Somehow, this quiet noise woke her son up faster than the whole shouting match had done. He whimpered and began to wail, clearly distressed. Rapunzel hastily wiped away her tears and went to the cradle, lifting out Thomas and murmuring softly.

"It's okay, Tom. It's all right. M-mommy's here. I have you."

* * *

It was night, and Eugene heard the creaking of door hinges. He turned away from the window. His six year-old daughter was standing in the hallway, bare feet poking out from under her long nightdress, and her little face turned to his in confusion.

"Dad?"

He smiled grimly, "Hi, Annie. What are you doing up?"

"I—I didn't feel good."

Eugene felt as if a solid rock had just dropped into his stomach. The poor girl looked so sad and weak. He had not known how sick she had been, and a stab of guilt ran through him. He came over to Annabelle, kneeling down before her, gently stroking her face and feeling her forehead. She was sweating.

"Ah—your fever's breaking. But I bet you still feel achy, don't you?"

She nodded.

Eugene nodded and stood up, gesturing to the couch, "Okay, sweetie. Come here, I'll take care of you."

He sat down upon the sofa as she came over. Then he easily picked her up and sat her down in his lap, reclining backwards so that she rested on his chest. Annabelle was remarkably warm—but she was also shivering. Eugene grabbed a blanket from the top of the couch and pulled it around her.

"There you are. How does that feel?"

"I'm still cold…" She mumbled.

"Okay, here-," he shifted her slightly, moving her to lay between himself and the back of the couch, "-that better?"

Annabelle nodded, "Yes sir."

Eugene smiled despite himself. His daughter was always polite—it amazed him.

But then she asked the question he had been hoping she would forget.

"Dad?"

"Yes Annie?" He asked, kissing her on the side of her head.

"Why—why aren't you with Mom?"

Her father winced. How would he answer that? A lie? No—no she was holding his hand. He could not lie to his daughter.

Eugene sighed, "Your mother and I had an argument, Annie. We got mad and decided it would be best if we spent tonight apart from each other."

Annabelle glanced up at him, "Are you angry?"

"Well-," he looked over at the crackling fire, "-I was… I still am, a little bit. But it's going to be all right." He tried to give her a comforting smile. "Your mother and I will work through it."

She moaned slightly and turned her face towards his chest. "Daddy, why does being sick have to feel so bad?"

Eugene rubbed her hand, "I can't answer that one. Are you still sore?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you probably won't be able to sleep, will you?"

Annabelle shook her head.

"Okay…" he thought hard, and then an idea hit him like an arrow—and he had a lot of experience with arrows. "To take your mind of it, how about I tell you a story?"

"Flynnigan Rider?"

"A different Flynn Rider. But-," Eugene smiled slightly, "-the story's not really about him."

Annabelle frowned, "Who's it about then?"

"A girl—a young lady, in fact—named Rapunzel."

"Isn't that Mom's name?"

Her father nodded and shifted his arm around her, replying, "Yeah, that is your mother's name. The young lady in the story and your mother are quite a lot alike. Do you want me to continue?"

She shrugged, "Sure."

"Okay, so this is the story about Rapunzel. And it starts with the sun. Now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens…"

* * *

An hour later, Rapunzel still lay in her bed, gazing at the wall in the darkness of her room. It was strange, not having Eugene beside her. Not having that other person—that strong sense of life—that she could reach out and touch. The bed felt empty, somehow. Painfully empty.

Almost unconsciously, she rolled over to gaze at the place where he would normally be. It felt so wrong—so wrong.

But he had said such mean things.

Yet, so had she.

But he had been avoiding her for the past several days—he had never bothered to actually sit down and talk to her. He had never stopped to consider whether or not she needed him.

Yet… had she ever really given him a chance to do so?

But she did need him. She needed him right now.

Rapunzel got up, torn between going out to find him and remaining in bed to sulk. Her son, however, began to cry again.

She hurried over to his cradle and took him up, whispering, "Shhh… It's okay, Tom. I know it hurts. I know it feels bad." Rapunzel glanced over to her bed and shut her eyes, holding her fussing son closer to herself. "But you've got to fight through it."

Thomas continued to wail, his tiny face screwed up in discomfort. The doctors said his ear-infection would clear up in a matter of days. Meanwhile, however, the little boy would have to deal with the pain. But you could not explain that to a fifteen month-old. All you could do was try to calm him down as much as possible.

Rapunzel rocked her son back and forth, telling him again and again he would be all right. That she was sorry. That she knew how much it hurt.

Minutes dragged on, and eventually he had worn himself out too much to cry anymore. Instead, Thomas whimpered and mumbled in complete dejection. Rapunzel sighed and started to hum slowly. It was a familiar tune, but she could not remember where it came from. She was simply trying to quiet her son.

* * *

"And so, Rapunzel began to sing the song that made her hair glow. Her voice was sweet in the silence of the forest. Her hands were soft upon the thief's own. Then, amazingly enough, those golden locks of hers began to shine with a strong, glorious power."

"What did Flynn do?" Annabelle asked, looking at the fire.

Eugene smiled, his chin resting on his daughter's head, and he replied, "He watched her. He watched her sing, and he watched the gleaming light spreading through her hair. It was the strangest thing he had ever seen, and it scared him. And then the light reached the hair around his hand, and his skin grew hot and tingly."

Annabelle gazed down at her father's hand. She had been playing with his fingers when he said this, and she touched his palm. "What happened?"

"The thief unwrapped the hair and let it fall away to reveal unblemished, unbroken skin. He had been healed by Rapunzel's power."

"Wow."

Eugene nodded, "It was pretty amazing."

"Did Rapunzel tell him why it glows?" She looked up at him, her fingers still pressing on the palm of his hand.

He shook his head, responding, "She didn't know, Annie. But she did tell him that the mean lady—her fake mother—had warned her against getting her hair cut. Because, once it's cut, it turns brown and loses its power. And she wouldn't be able to heal anyone anymore."

Annabelle narrowed her eyes, "Is that true?"

"To an extent. But you'll have to wait till the end of the story to really find out. Are you feeling better, Annie?"

The girl snuggled closer to her father, muttering, "Kind-of."

"Has your fever gone down?" Eugene set his hand over her forehead. The heat had lessened some.

"Can you finish the story?"

"Yeah. Okay—campfire… ah, well, our favorite thief also explained his back-story to Rapunzel. He told her that he was an orphan—his parents had died—and he had dreamed of becoming Flynnigan Rider. That's why he changed his name, see. He wanted to be someone he wasn't—and the first step to that is changing your name…"

* * *

Rapunzel opened her eyes and stopped humming. Thomas was no longer wiggling unhappily in her arms. She glanced down at the boy in the moonlight.

But then, just as quickly as he stopped, he started moaning again.

How did-? Wait… wait—the song!

Rapunzel cleared her throat and began to sing quietly: "_Flower, gleam and glow; let your power shine; make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt; change the Fate's design; save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… what once was mine_."

Immediately, she felt Thomas relax. His breathing slowed, his eyes had shut, and he was sleeping. Rapunzel looked at him in awe and gently brushed aside his hair. That song—she had not sung that song in years. Why, the last time she had sung it had been…

She looked over at the empty bed again, remembering his still, pale form lying upon her lap in the dark tower. She could remember how it had felt—how his body had become a dead weight and how he had stopped breathing. How lonely it had been. How quiet and cold. His face had turned grey, his eyes had closed for what she thought would be forever, and his soul had left him. The fire of life had faded from his skin. He had left her. He had gone.

She had been alone.

Rapunzel blinked away tears and went to lay her son back down in his cradle. Then she took a seat by the window, curling her knees up to her chin as she thought back to that day. She had never before truly known heartbreak until that moment. Even when she had believed in his betrayal—somehow it had not hurt as much as when he had died in her arms.

Betrayals could be reconciled. Death was irreversible.

"Eugene…"

* * *

The night passed on to early morning. Soft light spilled out from the windows of the sitting room, illuminating the dark corners of the black fireplace. The world was quiet and solitary.

Eugene listened to Annabelle's gentle snoring. She had fallen asleep an hour ago, even before he had finished the story. But he decided a few more sentences would be all right.

"So, Annie, they lived happily ever after. They got married, had two amazing kids with another on the way and-," he sighed, looking down at his sleeping daughter, "-they are as happy as can be."

Then he looked up at the ceiling, adding hoarsely, "Of course, that's not necessarily true, is it?"

He had thought about her all night long. It was impossible not to, what with the story he was telling and the fact that he had their daughter in his arms. He felt guilty—far guiltier than he had ever felt during his days as a thief. He had hurt one of the people he loved the most, all because he was just too tired and too frustrated with the world not working like it was supposed to work. He had thrown all the blame on her—that wonderful, beautiful, loving woman whom he had promised to protect and care for the rest of his life. How could he have done such a thing?

After all she had done for him—all she was still doing for him… What could he have been thinking?

Just then, the door leading to his bedroom opened, and his wife stepped into the chamber. Eugene looked at her, noting the frown of concern crossing her face upon seeing her daughter with him. Then she met his eyes and nodded her head slightly. She wanted to talk to him.

Eugene carefully got up and set Annabelle back down onto the couch. Then he came over to Rapunzel, setting his hands on his back and straightening the kinks out. He smiled nervously at her.

"Hey."

She looked at him, "Why is Annie-?"

"She wasn't feeling well." Eugene glanced over to his daughter before turning his gaze back to his wife's face. "But I took care of her. Her fever broke and I think she'll be completely fine in another day. She's all right."

"Oh… thank you."

"You don't have to say thank you for my doing something I should do anyway."

Rapunzel nodded, "Right. Um—did you sleep well?"

Eugene shook his head sadly, admitting, "I haven't slept all night."

"Me neither…"

There was an awkward pause that both were a little afraid to interrupt. Finally, however, Eugene coughed and began to speak. And before he knew it, everything he had been thinking came out all in a rush.

"Listen, sweetheart, I've been an idiot. I was wrong—I should've never said all that stuff. I was wrong about you. I mean, you're still working your tail off _and_ taking care of the kids _and_ carrying one of them too. All I've been doing is trying to understand reports which, to be perfectly honest, any guy with a drop of sense can do that. But I—I was wrong about everything. Because you've been nothing but amazing these past few weeks. What am I saying? These past several _years_ you've been the best thing in my life. And I'm sorry, Rapunzel. I'm sorry for not appreciating you. I'm so sorry for—for what I said. For the lies and—and for being wrong. I was completely and utterly wro-."

She set a hand on his face, whispering, "How about we both be wrong, this time, instead of just you?"

He grinned slightly, "All right."

Rapunzel adjusted his collar, muttering, "And _I'm_ sorry—just as much as you are if not more. I've been so-," she groaned, "-so irritated at every little thing lately. It's just—Eugene… everything seems to be happening so fast. With Annie sick, Tom's ear infection—that strife going on in the Midlands... My father's been up every night for the past few weeks. _You're_ working around the clock—_I'm_ working. We don't have time to spend with the kids, much less with each other. And now we're having another child." She gazed up at him, her green eyes apprehensive. "How can we bring another person into this world when there's so much trouble going on?"

"Well," he set his hands comfortingly on her shoulders, "we just do."

"Tell me we can do this again." She pleaded, sighing.

He smiled, "We can do this again."

Then Eugene embraced his wife, wrapping his arms about her as she rested her head on his chest. He laid his cheek upon her soft, brown hair, holding her tightly. He could feel her breathing, her back rising and lowering with each inhale and exhale. It was a normal part of life that became amazing because it _meant_ life. It meant she was alive and, what was more, someone inside her was alive as well. And somehow, these breathing, living creatures had been entrusted to him. They belonged to him.

"I love you." Eugene said quietly, closing his eyes.

Rapunzel listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, murmuring, "And I love you."

They stood there for a long while, separated from the world by their love for each other. The morning had lost its loneliness, now seeming to ring with the noise of life amid the silence.

Then the quiet was broken by a voice, and Eugene pulled slightly away to speak to his wife.

"Tell you what-," she looked up at him, "-I'll get Annie to bed and then I'll go down to the kitchens and make you breakfast."

"You can't cook."

Her husband nodded, "All right, I'll bully Chef Armando into making you breakfast. And then I'll spend the morning with you. And—when the children wake up—we can spend the day with them. Together," he smiled, "as a family."

Rapunzel smiled back, "Okay."

He kissed her gently, running his thumbs along either side of her face and loving the way she pressed her hands against his chest, moving closer to him. Then he turned away to the couch to pick up his sleeping daughter. The little girl slept on, unconscious of her father's arms lifting her, or of her mother's smoothing her hair back from her forehead. Eugene walked over to the door, but stopped to address Rapunzel once again.

"Before I forget, dear, I just want to say that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And in no way do you look like a bloated whale."

Rapunzel's smile widened as she said, "Thank you, Eugene."

"You're welcome, Rapunzel."


	18. Splinters and invites

**Author Note**: Now, I'm sure many of you have all experienced the pain of a splinter being lodged in your hand. I remember getting them when I was younger and absolutely being terrified about having them removed. So, this is a nod to that, and a few other things as well. :D Thanks for waiting, reading, and reviewing! :D Hopefully the next thing I get done will be with the Uncles, though I'm having some trouble with that... :) but that's okay :D I've got time :D oh, and by the way, the movie comes out in about six more days! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story, as well as The Aristocats. Rob Reiner owns the Princess Bride movie (yes, I am referencing that again) and William Goldman owns the book

* * *

Thomas charged down the hallway, Ginger racing after him. He grinned and called back to her: "I think they left us something in the Sun-Room!"

"Tom, hold up! I can't-," she skidded around the corner and ran after him, "-run that fast!"

He smirked and darted around a passing butler, nearly knocking him to the ground. "Sorry, Ferdinand!"

The elderly man merely rolled his eyes and turned, only to quickly sidestep the prince's speeding little sister. He clutched at the wall, trying to maintain balance and get his heart to stop pounding against his chest. He was getting too old for this job.

"_Tom_!"

"He's not going to slow down, dear girl!" Ferdinand called weakly, straightening his suit and bending to retrieve the pile of towels he had dropped.

Ginger finally reached the sun-splashed chamber reserved for the play of the royal children. Her brother was already sitting in the middle of the sun-crest emblazoned on the floor, throwing open the lid of a wide box the guards had left them. The palace soldiers found their crown prince and youngest princess rather amusing, and were great friends to them. They often spent their patrols being followed around by one of the children. During this time they would explain the drudgery of a soldier's life while their companion attempted to mimic the straight-backed stance for which Corona's guards were so well known.

Thus it was that, as yet another way to show their affection, the royal guardsmen had made a new set of toys for their prince and princess. The soldiers were talented in many areas, so their gifts were generally high quality and much appreciated by the children.

Thomas pulled out a rather pretty princess doll. He made a face at it and flung it over his shoulder, muttering, "That's yours, Gin'."

"Yay! Charlie made a friend for Princess Persephona!" Ginger cheered, picking up the doll and hugging it to herself.

Thomas smiled widely and withdrew a long wooden play sword out from the box, thrusting it high into the air. "Bill made me a sword!"

"He made _us_ a sword." Ginger corrected imperiously.

Her brother rolled his eyes, "What are you talking about? Girls play with dumb dolls and boys play with swords!"

He trotted around the room, plunging his weapon into imaginary foes and growling out threats. "Take that! And-," he twisted and skillfully feinted, "-that! Tremble before the mighty skill of Flynnigan Rider!"

"Okay, Princess Louisa." Ginger moved over to the box and began to overturn it, smiling at the doll in her hand. "Time to put you to bed."

"Nah-uh!" Thomas said, jumping on top of the box to prevent his sister from turning it over. "This is my fort where I hide from my pirate rivals!"

She narrowed her eyes and tugged on the box, claiming, "Tom, I had it first!"

"Why should you be first?" Her brother demanded, clambering down to pull on the box from the other side.

Ginger sniffed bossily, "Because I'm a lady, that's why."

"Ha, you're not a lady!" Thomas retorted, sticking out his tongue. "You're nothing but a sister!"

"Give it!" His sister ordered.

"Flynnigan Rider takes commands from no one!"

Ginger gripped at the edges of the box, yelling, "You're not Flynn! Daddy's Flynn!"

"Dad's not here!" Thomas replied, also jerking at the rough, wooden corners of the box.

Meanwhile, as this little fight was going on, Eugene walked down the corridor, looking through the sheaf of papers in his hand. Taxes, inventories, shipping reports… ah, a letter from Prince Harold of Orae.

Eugene smiled and opened the envelope, reading aloud, "'Dear Eugene, old chap-,'" he frowned, "Old chap? I'm not old. Harold, you're older than I am, for goodness sake. Anyway, 'we are having the annual Winter Conference here at Orae and would be pleased as punch' pleased as punch? What kind of-?"

"GIVE ME THE DOLL HOUSE!"  
"IT'S A FORT!"

"NO IT ISN'T!"

Eugene sighed. He knew those voices very well. Too well.

The prince consort continued down the hall until he reached the doorway that led into the Sun-Room. He leaned against the side of the entrance, watching as his son and youngest daughter argued over a box the guards had given them while their new toys lay forgotten on the floor.

Eugene cleared his throat, and, when that did not get their attention, he said loudly: "Stop."

Both children released the box, surprised by their father's voice. This action, however, was soon followed by an immediate reaction as Thomas and Ginger seized their respective hands and gasped in pain.

Eugene frowned and came into the room, kneeling down next to his son and daughter. "What happened?"

Thomas winced, prodding at his hand, "I think I got a splinter."

"Oh. Ginger-snap, what about-?" He stopped upon seeing his daughter's face.

Ginger was pale, her eyes wide as she gaped at her finger. Her lower lip began trembling.

Eugene's frown deepened, "Sweetie, are you-?"

She burst into tears, clutching her hand and crying with all the despair she could muster.

"Aw, come on, Gin', it's just a little splinter." Thomas muttered as his father quickly set his arm around Ginger.

Eugene shot him a glare, murmuring, "Shhh—it's okay, Ginger-snap. It's all right. Here, let me see it."

She pulled her hand away from him, "N-nooo…"

"Ginger-snap, I just want to look at it-," Eugene explained patiently, holding out his hand. "I promise I won't hurt you."

Ginger looked at him.

"I promise." He repeated.

She allowed him to examine her hand. Eugene gently pinched the finger where a small wooden sliver had imbedded itself. He nodded grimly, "Yep, you've got a good one, Ginger-snap."

"Dad, I think I've almost got mine out." Thomas said, digging his nails into his palm.

Eugene looked over at his son, wincing, "Um, Thomas, I think I should take that out."

"No—I've almost—oops…" The boy held up his hand, "Dad, I think I pushed it in too far."

"Sure did. Okay, Ginger-snap, I'll get yours out in a minute. Thomas, come here." Eugene waved his son over.

Thomas obeyed and sat down next to his father. Eugene reached into his back pocket and pulled out his penknife. It was a handsome tool—mother-of-pearl handle with a shining, clean steel blade. Eugene flipped the knife open, bringing his son's hand over towards him.

"This might hurt a bit but-," he began to carefully press into his son's hand, "-it's your own fault for digging the splinter in too much."

Thomas gritted his teeth, "Dad, if you can't get it out will you have to chop off my hand?"

There was a squeak of fright from Ginger.

Eugene smirked, "No, Thomas, I won't have to chop off your hand. I just might have to hurt you in order to help you." He pushed the blade in harder, levering out the splinter as his son groaned with pain.

"There you go." Eugene popped out the splinter and took it over to a nearby trashcan, disposing of the offending fragment. "All right, Ginger-snap, let me-."

"No. Daddy, I'm—I'm okay." She was once again holding her hand, her green eyes fixed on his in a blank, scared stare.

Eugene walked towards her, "It will only take a few seconds-."

"And then he'll chop your hand off!" Thomas interrupted, grinning madly.

"_Thomas_!" His father gazed at him sternly. "Don't you ever-?"

"No! Daddy, _please_! _Please_! I don't want to be like Uncle Al! _Please_! I need my hand!" With each 'please' Ginger sobbed all the harder, wailing in terror and running around in circles.

Great, Eugene thought. Not only does she have a splinter, but thanks to her brother, she was also going into hysterics.

"Ginger-snap, I won't chop off-."

"You s-said _chop_!"

Thomas beamed, "I wonder if you'll get a hook like Uncle Albert? Then you could be a pirate, Gin'!" Thomas's grin widened, and then it quickly disappeared as his father grabbed him by his collar.

"Thomas-," Eugene winced as Ginger screamed louder in the background, "-go get your mother and explain what has happened. She's the only one who can get Ginger to calm down when she's like this."

"But Dad-."

"Now."

He hurried off to follow his father's instructions as Eugene turned back to his daughter.

"Ginger-snap."

"No! Daddy, _please_!" Ginger begged, sniffling.

Eugene looked at the penknife still in his hand. He hastily closed the blade and slipped it back into his pocket, holding out his open hands. "See, Ginger-snap? No knife. Nothing. I'm not going to try to get the splinter out."

"R-really?"

He nodded, "Yes dear, I promise."

"Daddy!" Ginger ran towards him, hugging him tightly.

Eugene held his daughter, rubbing her back as she cried into his shoulder, "I'm sorry I scared you, dear. But I was never going to hurt you."

She mumbled something indistinguishable.

"No. Thomas was just being a brother. I would never chop your hand off."

There were more mumbles.

Her father grinned slightly, "Yes, Ginger-snap. You'll be okay."

The little girl took a deep breath and moaned, "My finger hurts."

"I know it does. But-," Eugene smiled down at her, "-I have some good news for you. Do you want to hear it?"

She nodded.

Eugene pulled Harold's letter out of his pocket, "I just got a letter from the prince and princess of Orae—you know, Mr. Harold and Miss Felicia and all their kids? Big Harriett and Little Harriett and Harry, Jr. and Hermione and Helga and Hernandez and Hubert and—well I think they have more children but I can't remember their names. Anyway, Ginger-snap, they've invited us to come and stay at their home for a few weeks during the winter. You'll get to play in the snow."

"Snow?"

"Yeah—though I don't think _you've_ actually been up to Orae. Your brother has and Annie has, but I don't think you've ever seen snow before. However when we go, you'll be able to make snowmen, snow angels, have a snowball fight or two and knock your brother in the head a few times." Eugene grinned, "And, if I can get your mother to agree, we might be able to go sledding down the hill that's outside the castle."

Ginger let out a hushed gasp, "Wow."

Eugene nodded, "Oh, it'll be fun, Ginger-snap. You'll have a blast."

"Will we have hot chocolate?"

"Are you kidding? The way Mr. Harold likes his hot chocolate and you ask that?" Her father laughed, saying, "Ginger-snap, Mr. Harold absolutely loves hot chocolate—he can't get enough of the stuff. We'll definitely have some of that."

"Eugene?"

They looked up to see Rapunzel entering the room, followed by Thomas. She had a worried furrow to her brow and a pair of tweezers in her hand. Ginger instantly ran over to her mother, holding forth her throbbing finger.

"Mommy—Tom and me got splinters but Daddy got Tom's out but he—he couldn't get mine."

"She wouldn't let me get it out." Eugene corrected, watching as his wife kneeled down next to Ginger to see the damage.

Rapunzel shook her head, "Shhh, Eugene. I'm busy."

Thomas retrieved his sword from the floor and brandished it at his father, declaring dramatically: "'Hello. My name is-.'"

Eugene smirked and tousled his son's hair, replying, "Yeah, yeah, I know your name is Thomas Fitzherbert and that I killed your father and must now prepare to die."

"Aw, Dad, you just ruined-."

"Boys, please be quiet." Rapunzel muttered, squeezing her daughter's finger.

"Don't touch it." Ginger pleaded, her voice shaking.

Her mother smiled at her softly, "Ginger dear, how am I supposed to get it out if I can't touch it?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Is it going to hurt?"

"No, sweetie, it won't hurt. Now just hold your father's hand and look away and it'll be over in a few seconds."

Eugene offered his hand absently, and was surprised by the fierce grip his daughter bestowed upon it. He grimaced, "Ginger-snap, there's no need to constrict my blood flow."

His wife shushed him again as Ginger closed her eyes and turned her head away. Rapunzel easily used her tweezers to withdraw the splinter in about three seconds.

"There you go, Ginger dear. It's gone."

Ginger gaped at her mother, "Really? It didn't hurt at _all_!"

Rapunzel smiled, "If you just hold still and be patient, it usually doesn't. Are you all right?"

"Yep. Mommy, look at the present Charlie made for me!" Ginger ran over to pick up her doll from the floor, babbling excitedly about Princess Louisa and all her invisible admirers.

Eugene gazed at his wife, shaking his head, "I can't believe it. It takes me about a minute to calm Ginger-snap down and all you have to do is simply _be_ here. And then, about five seconds later, you've fished the splinter out and successfully returned her to cloud nine. How do you do it?"

"Mother's instinct, Eugene. And I also did _not_ use a pocketknife." She clicked her tweezers at him, smirking.

"Mommy, look at Princess Louisa!" Ginger requested proudly, holding up her new doll.

Rapunzel gave her a wide smile, "Oh, she's wonderful, Ginger dear!"

"Dad-," Thomas said, looking up from his newly claimed 'fort', "-I think I got another splinter."

His father groaned, "Thomas, didn't you learn your lesson once already? Let me see-."

"Nope—got it out." He grinned at him.

"All right, children," Rapunzel stood up, suggesting, "why don't you go thank Captain Charlie and Colonel Bill for the gifts?"

"Where are they, Mom?"

"In the officer's break-room downstairs. Be sure to knock first and Tom-," she glared meaningfully at her son, "-don't you _dare_ sneak into the armory."

Thomas nodded, "Okay… Come on, Gin'! I'll race you to the break-room!"

Without a second's hesitation, they both sped off. A faint shriek from the hallway indicated they had just plowed into a maid.

Eugene ran his hand over the rough edge of the box, asking, "What do we feed them, really? I thought we outlawed sugar in the kingdom to prevent things like this."

His wife shrugged, "I think my mother calls it 'childhood energy'. Apparently it's supposed to wear off when they reach their teenage years. It did for Annie."

"Annie's never had that problem, Rapunzel. She's about as calm as your mother during a tea-party."

She frowned at him, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out just what caused them to get splinters. There must be a—ah!" Eugene jerked his hand away, scowling at his palm. "Found it."

"Did you just get a splinter?"

He sighed, "Unfortunately. And I can't use my knife left-handed or I'll wind up losing a finger. Would you be so kind as to remove this festering fragment from my skin?"

"Only if you promise not to fuss." Rapunzel grinned, sitting next to her husband to extract the splinter from his palm.

"Oh—ouch—ooo… it _burns_." He whined teasingly, smirking at her. Then his eyes narrowed, "Ow! That actually hurt."

"You got it in deep, dear. You always have to do a bit extra, don't you?"

Eugene shrugged, "Well, that's how I got you to fall in love with me. I went slightly overboard with a couple of lanterns and wound up marrying the lost princess of Corona. Can't blame a guy for trying too hard and winning in the end."

"I suppose not." Rapunzel withdrew the thin shard of wood and smiled at him. "I heard you talking to Ginger when I came in. You said she was going to have fun doing something. What's your plan?"

He got to his feet, helping his wife up as well. "It's fun for the whole family. Prince Harold and his wife are having that annual Winter Conference thing at Orae and we've been invited in place of your parents."

Rapunzel nodded, "Yes, I remember Dad telling me. He said he and Mom didn't want to go this year because of the increase snowfall and his bad knee. Harold must have known about that."

"Must have. Anyway, dearest love, would you like to go to Orae in five months? Corona's horribly dull during the winter and no matter how cold it gets we both know it'll never snow. How's that sound to you?"

She grinned, "It sounds like a good idea. Ginger's never seen snow and it would be good for Tom and Annie to hang out with their peers again."

"And not in the royal library." Eugene said smugly.

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "They're just friends, Eugene."

"I know, I know. But I'd still feel much more comfortable if we get Annie away from Corona while there's mistletoe about."

"She's only thirteen."

"An unlucky number if ever there was one."

His wife ignored his comment and nodded at the box, "Take that down to the carpenter so he can sand down the sides. And be careful, Eugene. I've had enough of dealing with splinters today."

Eugene gingerly lifted the container, muttering, "You know, I think we need to have a word with the guards. As much as they adore the kids—they have plenty of toys. I don't even want to guess at how much trouble Thomas will get in with that sword of his."

"Oh no. He's probably challenging Bill and Charlie to a duel as we speak."

"We should alert the infirmary then. They'll be having a couple of bruised soldiers arriving there later this afternoon."

Rapunzel laughed and followed her husband out of the room as, down in the guard's break-room, a semi-epic swordfight began to take place.


	19. Relaxing

**Author Note**: OKAY... so I was supposed to get the Uncles up before this one (which is Eugene and Rapunzel-centric by the way)... but it's exam week next week and I thought we could all use a little fluff-and to those who have exams, will have them, are taking them already, or are done-this is for you! :D AND I'm sorry for not posting recently but, as I've said, school is ending and that means everything's starting to climax... :P haha :D but it's okay. Oh, and it's really late, so I'm not going to offer too much in the way of an author note right now :) so... thanks so much for waiting, for reading, for reviewing, for faving (both as an author and story) and for everything else! :D you guys are terrific, and I hope to get more fic writing done this summer as well as finish a story I've been working on for several years... which, after I cut out about a good half of it and have an editor chop up the rest, MIGHT end up on shelves one day :D I hope it does anyway, because there's a good kid with a good story that's been trotting around my brain forever now :D Anyhoo, thanks for everything and may God give you all a fantastic last weeks/days of school! :D SUMMER IS COMING SOON! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The prince consort of Corona glared at the report in his hands. It was frustrating. Why on earth did the clerks always have to make their words so tiny? As if that was not bad enough, the report itself contained details of a trade agreement gone wrong. One company was vying for the right of prime spot in shipping, but the other company—a much older and well respected business headed by one of his Majesty's most notable courtiers—had protested against the upstart corporation.

Along with that, both had connections deep in the Torren Peninsula, and apparently there had been some double-dealing under the table. Not to mention the problem of illegal merchandise that had been banned years ago from Corona's cities. Oh, and as an added bonus just because the world was feeling nice to him, the Midlands were acting up again and raids were going on at the edges of the country.

Eugene sighed, tossing the papers onto his desk and slumping back into his chair. He rubbed his eyes wearily, listening to the silence of his office. What a day it had been. Meetings with boring, stuffed-up ambassadors; lunch with the aged Duke of Gavin who, apparently, was hard of hearing and had to be shouted at in order to get any point across; and then finally, a review of the guard during which one of the men had actually tripped, sending the rest of them down like a line of dominos. All right, the latter part had been pretty funny, but he was not supposed to laugh in front of the Duke of Gavin. And yet the Captain of the Guard still felt it perfectly acceptable to glare at him, the prince consort, because he _might_ have smiled slightly as the soldiers toppled to the ground.

Eugene allowed himself a small smirk, and then saw the stack of paperwork on his desk still waiting to be attended to. He really should not have taken that trip to Salisbury last week. He knew the postponed workload would be horrible but did it just have to be _this_ bad?

The prince consort gazed moodily around his office. Sunlight, streaming in from the windows behind him, illuminated the floating dust particles as they drifted through the air. Some of the rays alighted on the map stretched across the far wall, showing ancient Corona and how it had once been a much, much larger nation. That had been before the Midlands had rebelled, centuries ago. If only those mercenary deserters had just shut up about their so-called 'right to freedom' maybe he would not have that mess to deal with now…

Then, another ray of sunshine entered the room—or rather, his wife opened the door and walked in.

"Whatever work you have for me, I'm too busy. Just set it on the counter." Eugene muttered, waving wearily at his side table.

Rapunzel frowned, "I don't have any work for you. Are you all right, dear?

"Peachy." He replied grumpily, picking up the report again and grimacing at the minuscule script.

His wife sighed, "Okay, clearly you're not happy. Though you could smile a little."

"Why should I smile? I'm not happy." Eugene retorted, shuffling aggressively through the report. "I'm not happy at all. I've got loads of work to do and people are just being idiots and it's the weekend for goodness sake! Not to mention, I'm still tired from that trip I took last week and I don't see how folks can get into this much trouble in just seven days!"

Rapunzel reached his desk and ran a hand along the smooth wood as her husband continued to complain. She watched him, seeing the stress in how his shoulders were hunched as well as the firm scowl of discontentment upon his face. Then, raising her green eyes, she saw the blue sky outside. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Her husband had worked long enough.

"Eugene, stop working."

"I only wish I can." Eugene responded, seizing a magnifying glass so he could read the clerk's handwriting.

"No, dear, I really mean it."

"Can't, Rapunzel. Duty calls and-." He stopped talking when she laid her hands on his wrist. Eugene glanced up at her.

She smiled, "Stop."

"I-," Eugene looked at the report and then back to her, mumbling, "-I can't. I've got to finish this."

"How long have you been working today?"

"Since seven this morning."

Rapunzel nodded and gently removed the quill and report from his hands, "Well now it's three in the afternoon and you are in need of a break."

He shook his head, "Listen, as much as I would love to stop I really need to-."

"No talking."

"Wha-?" She stopped him from speaking by pressing her finger to his lips.

"Shush. You're not allowed to say anything from here on out. Now-," Rapunzel took hold of his arm and tugged him out of his chair, "-follow me."

"Bu-."

"Quiet."

"Rap-." At her expression he fell obediently silent.

"Just come along, Eugene. You need to relax."

He gave her a questioning look as she led him out into the hallway.

Rapunzel shrugged, "I don't know if they'll fuss at you for not finishing the report. But, to be perfectly honest Eugene, I don't care and you shouldn't either."

Eugene rolled his eyes.

"If they get too bad you can send them to _me_."

He grinned, raising an eyebrow.

"And no, I'm not going to tell you what I'm going to do to them." His wife replied, taking him down another corridor and heading to the center of the palace.

Eugene pouted.

"No, dear."

He sighed, but it was a sigh of acceptance, and allowed Rapunzel to continue pulling him along.

Eventually, they reached the doors that opened up onto the palace garden. Rapunzel released his hand to turn the handles, and she nodded at him to keep following. Eugene did as instructed, striding out into the bright, warm sunshine as a conveniently aesthetic flock of birds flew up across the cloudless heavens.

Eugene pointed at the birds, smirking.

"No. I did not organize that."

He shrugged.

"Now-," Rapunzel stopped at the steps and looked up at him expectantly, "-take off your shoes."

Her husband frowned and shook his head.

"Eugene, please take off your shoes?"

Once again, he shook his head.

"Take. Them. Off."

Eugene rolled his eyes and plopped down to resignedly remove his boots. As he unbuckled the straps, he asked out of the side of his mouth: "Am I allowed to talk now?"

She nodded, "I suppose."

"Then why-," he yanked one boot off, "-do I have to take off my shoes?"

"Because I said so." Rapunzel answered, smiling at him in such a way that he could never be annoyed with her.

Eugene did, however, cast a glance back at the palace and say softly, "You know, I really think I should get back and finish those reports."

His wife responded lightly, "You can do that later."

He took off his other boot and set it next to the first, murmuring, "Rapunzel, as much as I appreciate whatever you're trying to do, this really can't last for long. I don't think those noblemen or your father will be very happy when I tell them that instead of doing my work, I took a walk in the garden."

"Don't worry. Dad will understand."

"Yeah but-," he got to his feet, grunting, "-I don't think the other men involved in that argument will."

"As I said before, send them to me. Now," she took his hand in hers, "close your eyes and follow me."

"You expect me to close my eyes and walk around barefoot in the garden?"

Rapunzel shook her head, "No, I expect you to trust me."

He made a face, but shut his eyes, remarking warningly, "If I step in something-."

"I'll keep you safe, Eugene. Just do what I say and you'll be fine." Rapunzel began to lead him carefully forward across the neatly trimmed grass.

The gardeners had been laboring hard throughout the last few months, ensuring that the heat of summer did not dry out the lawn or wilt the flowers of the palace garden. Their handiwork could be seen in how green the grass was and how the flowerbeds remained vibrant even beneath the sun's strong blaze. But of course, Eugene could not see this. Instead, all he could feel was his wife's hand clasped securely in his, the softness of the living earth beneath his feet, the warm sun on his skin, and a sea breeze blowing quietly past.

"Are you okay?" Rapunzel asked him.

He shrugged, walking calmly onward as she led. "I guess." He cocked his head, "Is that the bell down at the guardhouse?"

"Yes. It's now three thirty."

"Hmm… I missed hearing that in Salisbury. They only ever rang on the hour—never at half an hour. And even then their bells were these big gong-like things that practically shattered the air. Ours are—nicer, quieter. More livable with, anyway."

Rapunzel laughed, "'More livable with'?"

Eugene gave a half-nod, "Well yeah. I mean, I can remember the first few nights I spent in the capital those bells never gave me any chance to sleep."

"And now almost nothing can wake you up." His wife said, leading him into the shadow of a clump of trees.

He stepped slowly along, frowning, "We're in shade now, aren't we? I can't feel the sun anymore."

"Yep. The apple trees the gardeners planted last year are doing quite well."

"Any apples?"

"Reach up and find out for yourself."

Eugene raised his free hand, brushing it against the branches and leaves above him. He let it fall back to his side, asking, "Why didn't you just tell me that they weren't growing yet?"

"Because, I want to see how you deal with not having your sight." Rapunzel replied, taking him out from beneath the trees to walk onto a small path that wound its way to the maze and the pond.

"Very badly. The only reason I'm not tripping is because you're leading me."

"Good. Means I'm doing my job correctly."

"You've been doing that job for quite some time." Eugene said, his feet padding against the hot brick walkway.

She shrugged, countering, "Well I'm certainly not going to let anyone else do it."

"Thanks for that."

"You're welcome." Rapunzel smiled, squeezing his hand.

They walked around the garden for some time, enjoying each other's company as well as the beauty of the outside world. The only sound aside from the constant crashing of the ocean was the bees buzzing as they flitted around a mass of honeysuckle clinging to the palace wall. Eugene inhaled the fragrance of the flowers, allowing the healthy smell of a Corona summer wash over him in the mixture of shrubbery and salt air. He straightened his back, his shoulders relaxing and his walk turning into a comfortable loping pace as his bare feet trotted alongside his wife's. He had almost forgotten about his work when, unbidden, it slid back into his mind.

Eugene frowned.

"What's wrong?" Rapunzel asked, disappointed that her husband had stiffened up again.

"What time is it now?"

"Hold on—let me check your watch."

He held still, feeling her fingers reaching into his vest pocket and withdrawing the pocket watch to look at the time. Rapunzel then did something surprising, and unhooked his watch chain from its buttonhole, removing the timepiece altogether.

"I'm guessing you have a reason for that." Eugene muttered, hearing the rustling sound of his watch chain being gathered up in his wife's palm.

"I do. You're not allowed to think about work at all. So-," she poked him in the chest, "-don't think about it."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm going to set it down over here so remember where it is."

"Sweetheart," Eugene said patiently, "my eyes are closed. I have no clue where we are."

His wife looked at him, "Oh, that's right, isn't it? Um—I'm putting your watch over here by the honeysuckle."

"I can remember smell." He replied.

"Yes, I know you can. All right, take my hand again and follow." She slipped her hand into his once more and began guiding him along.

"Now, do you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"The grass? And the wind?" Rapunzel asked, steering him towards the pond.

"Yes."

She continued forward, studying the shimmering water as it glinted in the sunlight. "And can you taste the salt in the air?"

"Always and forever." Eugene answered cheerfully.

"What about the smell?"

"Smells wonderful. Feels wonderful."

"And what can you hear?"

"The sea, the birds, the bugs and-," he grinned in her direction, "-the voice of someone whom I love very much."

"Okay. Now what?" Rapunzel stepped into the water, pulling him with her.

Eugene shifted slightly, narrowing his still-closed eyes. "My feet are wet and cold. Are we in the pond?"

"Yes."

He sighed, "Rapunzel, why am I standing in the-?" She suddenly released his hand, moving quietly away.

"Rapunzel?" Eugene turned around, his eyes still shut. Apparently he had forgotten he could open them. "What—where are you? Where are you going?"

There was no answer.

He slowly turned back to face the pond, not knowing he was doing so. "Okay, this is not relaxing. May I repeat: _not_ relaxing. I don't know where I am and what I'm doing and—wait a second—I can open my eyes!" Eugene's eyes snapped open.

Then, a second later, he felt two small hands press against his back, pushing him face-first into the pond.

Eugene floundered about in the water, twisting onto his back and bursting out from the pond. Clear, cold air filled his lungs and he immediately broke out in goose bumps. Spluttering and coughing, he gazed up at his smiling wife.

Eugene demanded, snorting out water: "_What_ was that for?"

She shrugged, "You opened your eyes."

"You just—just shoved me into the pond because I opened my eyes?"

Rapunzel shook her head, smirking, "Well, no. I was going to do it anyway but you _did_ open your eyes."

He gaped at her, the pond swirling about him. A little fish swam past his arm, but he took no notice. He was too busy trying to understand what had just happened. Eventually, he stood up, streams of water running off him and his clothing sticking to his body. He had a fairly dangerous look on his face as he started striding towards her.

"Now you can come and sit over here and dry out on the grass." Rapunzel said pleasantly. Then she saw the light in his eyes, and she began to back away.

"Oh no." Eugene said, shaking his head and sending droplets of water flying in every direction. "No. You're not pushing me into the pond and not get something in return."

His wife turned to start running, calling back: "No! No, Eugene don't—I'm sorry I-."

"Too late." He easily stopped her, swinging her up into his arms and turning back to march to the water.

She tried to struggle, but Eugene shook his head, "Nuh-uh-_uh_ little lady. Don't fight or it will be far worse for you."

"But—_Eugene_." Rapunzel clutched at his vest, gazing up into his face. "Come on—don't—don't throw me into the pond." She glanced over to the side, seeing the water passing below her. "I've got a tea-party to attend to this evening and… _please_ don't do it."

"Why not? You want me to relax and, by your definition, that includes a good healthy dip in the pond. Well, sweetheart, I want _you_ to relax too."

"I'm fine. I—I don't need to—to… how far are you going out?" They had gotten past the cattails now.

He shrugged, "Oh, far enough."

"But—oh, _Eugene_." She slid her arms around his neck, forcing him to look at her. Rapunzel pouted adorably, "You don't _really_ want to dunk your beautiful, sweet, innocent little wife in the yucky pond, do you?"

"Hmm… Well, I don't know about innocent."

She flashed him a mischievous grin.

"But you _are_ beautiful and sweet. And—and little. And-," he smiled reassuringly down at her, "-who could resist those incredible green eyes of yours?"

"Yeah. Yeah—who could resist them?"

"Not many people, I can tell you." Eugene said, stopping thigh-deep in the water.

"So—so you're not going to dunk me in the pond?" She smiled hopefully.

Her husband grinned, "All right, I was only kidding. I'm not _really_ going to throw you in."

"Thank goodness." He felt her loosen her grip.

"But I've changed my mind so—in you go!" Before she could do much more than squeal, Eugene had tossed his wife into the pond with terrific splash.

He leaned back, laughing as she broke the surface of the pond.

"Eugene!" Rapunzel exclaimed, half-swimming, half-wading over to him.

The prince consort tilted his chin, smirking, "May I help you?"

"I am soaking wet!"

"So am I." He replied, indicating himself.

"But you—you _tricked_ me!"

Eugene stared at her, "_I_ tricked you? Rapunzel, _you_ were the one who dragged me out here just so you could push me into the pond."

"Yes but—but that was to help you relax." She responded lamely, unable to think up any other excuse.

"It worked. Oh, by the way, you've got a bit of pondweed in your hair." He pointed out gleefully.

Rapunzel narrowed her eyes, hissing: "_Ooo_!" She slammed her hand against the water, splashing him.

"Hey—hey! Okay! I'm sorry!" Eugene laughed, retreating back towards the shore.

"Oh no you _don't_!" His wife raced forward—the best she could while hampered by water—and launched herself at him, weighing him down so that he fell back into the pond.

Eugene resurfaced, splashing Rapunzel in the process, and then evidently thought this was a good idea and continued to splash her. In retaliation, she sent sprays of water to him in return. Soon, an all-out splash fight took place within the pool. Joyful laughter and giggles echoed about the otherwise vacant garden, pursued by yells and shouts as gallons of water were exchanged. There was also quite a lot of dunking involved whenever splashing was no longer sufficient—and this logically led to more squeals.

Finally, the royal couple took a break from the game to catch their wind. Rapunzel glanced at her husband. He seemed much more relaxed and cheerful now.

"You, my dear," Eugene declared, blinking to clear the water from his eyes, "are crazy."

Rapunzel beamed at him, "_I'm_ crazy?"

"Yep. Because there is _no_ way I would have ever thought about coming out here in order to relax." He gestured to their surroundings.

"And have you relaxed?"

"Somewhat."

She grinned up at him, "And you're smiling now."

Eugene raised his eyebrows, "I _am_, aren't I? How do you do it?"

"Natural ability." His wife replied, shrugging.

Eugene laughed and took her face in his hands, sweeping her wet hair back and kissing her rather enthusiastically. She grinned even as he kissed her, reaching up to grasp his vest front and pull him closer.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the library, the librarian's assistant emerged from the bookcases to where a fourteen year-old Annabelle was sitting by the window.

Stanley shook his head, announcing: "Weirdest thing—I just heard this big splash and lot of laughing going on outside."

"What are you talking about?" Annabelle asked, frowning.

He gave a half-shrug, "I don't know. Maybe some of the kitchen help got bored and went outside?"

"Maybe—though Chef Arnold will _not_ be pleased." Annabelle stood up and went over to the window to gaze out. She groaned and immediately turned back around, hand covering her eyes.

"What?" Stanley grinned.

"It's not the kitchen help."

"Who is it then?"

"Just— just don't look outside." Annabelle said, sitting back down and shaking her head.

"What are you talking about?"

"Stan, I'm serious, you don't want to."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh _come_ _on_, Annie. What could be so-?" He stopped talking, hurriedly turning away from the window, "Whoa—that's your parents."

"Yep." Annabelle said tightly. "That's them."

"They are—um…" Stanley coughed uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. "They seem to be having a good time."

She sighed, "In public, yet again."

Her friend smiled, amending, "Well, Annie, it's not like they're _that_ much in public. I mean, they're in their own back yard."

"Which about thirty windows of this palace looks down upon, no less. Plenty of places from which servants, friends, family, and visiting dignitaries can see them."

"At least they love each other." Stanley said optimistically.

"And they are not afraid to show it, either."

Suddenly, a rather loud shriek and splash came from outside.

"Looks like your mom just got thrown into the pond." The librarian's assistant commented, grinning.

Annabelle shook her head, flipping a page in her book, "No—no that was Dad."

There was another yelp and a splash.

"_That_ was Mom."


	20. Vacation at Orae 1

**Author Note**: YAY! Returning to Family Life! :) so this going to be the start of that vacation (I mean, 'state business') to Orae, and said vacation will hopefully span a few chapters :D Then onto a cycle of various stories and slight romance... :D Happy Memorial Day to all of you, whether you live in the US or not, you probably have a military that protects you and thank God for those brave men and women! :D Hope you guys enjoy this bit and are having a great week already! Thanks for waiting, reading, reviewing, faving, and being all around terrific folks! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story -there's also a reference to a certain 'Silly Old Bear' and another favorite princess movie of mine :) let's see if you can get 'em :D

* * *

"So, you're going to Orae for—how many weeks?" Stanley asked, cradling a stack of books in his arms as he walked down the long shelves.

"Three." Annabelle called from where she sat by the fire, reading.

"Ah—three." The librarian assistant slid a thin volume between two larger books. He frowned, squinting at the author's name on the spine, and then sighed loudly.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, groaning, "Why did my glasses have to break yesterday? I can't read any of these names."

Annabelle thoughtfully fingered the corner of the page she was reading. "Didn't you take them to the eye-glass crafter downtown?"

"Yes, and he said-," Stanley hefted the books into one arm and retrieved the thin volume, "-that he'd be unable to repair them for four days."

She closed her book, "I'm sorry. Do you need any help?"

"Considering I can't read anything-." Stanley muttered, a trace of irritated sarcasm coming into his voice.

"Stan?" Annabelle walked past bookcases, blinking in the brightness of the early morning sunlight as it beamed down through the foggy windows above.

"Over here." He said grimly.

She came around the corner, her eyes narrowed in concern, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He shifted the books in his arms.

"Here-," she made to take some of the volumes from him, "-let me help you with-."

Stanley shook his head, "I'm okay, Annie."

Annabelle crossed her arms, "Stan, what's the matter with you? You've been moody for the past week now."

He shrugged, "I can't read anything—it's not a fun experience."

"You said your glasses broke yesterday. Last time I checked one day does not equal seven days. Now-," she deliberately removed some of the books from the stack in his arms, "-will you please explain to me why you're unhappy?"

He gazed down at her, seeing an unusual sternness in her familiar brown eyes. She was dressed for the cold—a warm, hooded coat that was slightly too big for her and gloves on her hands. The trip to Orae would take at least a day and a half, perhaps longer. It would be chilly, even in the coach. He half-wondered if he should offer her his jacket…

"Stan?"

Stanley shook his head, muttering, "Sorry. Just—are you going to be warm enough on the trip?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. But seriously—what's been annoying you so much?"

"Well-."

"Annie?" Eugene's call echoed in the otherwise empty library.

Annabelle glanced up, "Dad?"

"Annie, where are you?"

"Over in the bookcases with Stan."

"What?" There were hurried footsteps, and the prince consort rounded the bend to see his daughter with the assistant librarian.

Eugene sighed, "Annie, we've got to go in seven minutes. Are you all—what are you doing with all those books? You can't possibly want to take more-?"

"I'm just helping Stan out with shelving, Dad." Annabelle interrupted, rolling her eyes at the suspicious glare he shot towards Stanley.

"But that's his job." Her father pointed out.

"His glasses are broken and he can't read the names well."

Eugene felt slightly mollified, and he cocked his head, "I'm sorry about that, Stan."

"It's okay, sir."

"But really, Annie-," he turned back to his daughter, "-we've got to go soon. Do you have everything you need?"

She nodded, "It's all packed, sir."

"Toothbrush? Extra clothes? Midnight snacks? You got your Pooh-bear?"

Annabelle's eyes widened in horror, and she said quickly, "Dad, I've got everything I need."

"Including Po-?"

"Yes, including him!" She snarled, glaring daggers at her father.

Her father held up his hands, "Hey, I'm just making sure-."

"Ix-nay on the oo-pay!" Annabelle muttered through gritted teeth.

"I don't speak Pig-Latin." Eugene replied, slightly perplexed.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, "Dad, just—go. Go, please."

"Okay, but you have three minutes, all right? Nothing longer than that." He pointed at Stanley, adding, "I'm counting."

"You lost your watch last month." His daughter reminded him testily.

"I can still count!" Eugene called over his shoulder, marching back to the library entrance.

Annabelle groaned and looked over at Stanley. He was smirking at her and, before he could help himself, a slow chuckle escaped him.

"Stop laughing!"

Stanley snorted, "You still have that thing?"

"_Yes_." She retorted defensively. "There's nothing wrong with keeping a treasured play-toy with you when you're leaving your home and your best friend for three weeks and-."

He nodded, grinning, "Okay, okay. I get it."

"I can't believe he actually said that." Annabelle moaned in exasperation.

"Hey—it's all right. I mean, I remember you dragging that thing through mud, thorns, across the kitchen floor. Man, your mom had to wash that thing so many times." His grin widened, "So how is old Pooh-bear? Looking a little worse for the wear, eh?"

"He's better than _some_ people." Annabelle began to lead the way back to the fireplace. "But at least you've cheered up now."

He agreed, "I am very much cheered up. I had almost forgotten about Pooh-bear."

"I know. I was hoping he would stay forgotten." Annabelle murmured, setting the pile of books onto the table by the fireplace.

"By all but those who love him most." Stanley said merrily, also placing his stack onto the table.

"Oh, be quiet Stan."

He laughed and walked over to the library desk as Annabelle retrieved her book from her favorite armchair by the fire. Stanley rested his hands against the worn counter, watching his best friend marking her place in her book.

"Haven't you read that one before?"

She shrugged, "Yes, but it's my favorite. After all, far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise are all the makings of a beautiful tale."

"Or a beast of clichés." The librarian assistant remarked, opening one of the desk drawers and rummaging inside.

"What are you looking for?"

"Feeling for—my eyesight is so bad that looking in this dim light will get me nowhere."

"Okay then, what are you _feeling_ for?" Annabelle asked, coming over to the desk.

"Something fairly important." Stanley grunted as he withdrew the object of his search and moved it behind his back.

She watched as he came around the desk to stand before her, his blue eyes trying to focus on her face.

"Before I say anything else, Annie, I want to apologize."

"For what?" Annabelle asked quietly.

He sighed, "For being unreasonably irritable these past few days. I'm just going to miss seeing you for the next few weeks and I suppose I blew it slightly out of proportion. So, I am sorry about that."

"Thank you for your apology. I appreciate it."

Stanley nodded, "You are quite welcome. And now, though I know this can't compare to snuggly, wuggly, silly old Pooh-bear-," he brought his hand from behind his back and gave her a small, rectangular package, "-I guess I should probably make sure you get it since I'm not going to see you on Christmas."

She accepted the gift, her face softening. "Wow… thanks, Stan."

He gave her a half-smile, scratching the back of his neck, "That _is_ a present, right? I mean, the most I can tell is that it's a multicolored blob. Does it have your name on it?"

Annabelle checked the tag and read the tidily-scripted 'for Annie' written on the paper. She smiled, "Yes it does."

"Great. Now, when you're off playing in the snow with all the sons and—and daughters of nobility and royalty, just-," he laid a hand on her shoulder, "-just have a good time, Annie. And be safe. Especially that."

"I will. Thank you so much." Annabelle moved forward and hugged him, receiving a few hesitant pats on the back in return.

She rolled her eyes, "Come on, Stan, you know how to hug better than that."

"If your dad comes in-."

"He still has another minute."

Stanley set his arms about her and held her tightly, but briefly. It was one of those slightly awkward, sweet hugs that mark unspoken attractions world over.

It was also one of those hugs that a determined father can sniff out any day of the week.

"A-hem!"

Annabelle hurriedly pulled away from Stanley, accidently knocking her head against his chin in the process. The librarian assistant felt his jaw while Annabelle rubbed the back of her skull, both groaning.

Eugene, his arms crossed and his eyes thin slits of suspicion, muttered, "Time's up."

His daughter winced, "It's only been two minutes."

He shrugged, "As you said, I lost my watch. Now come on, Annie. We've got to get moving."

"Yes sir." She gave Stanley a small smile of apology. "Goodbye, Stan."

He nodded, still gingerly touching his face, "Have a good trip, Annie."

Annabelle smiled and then turned to her father, her eyes narrowing in a glare. Eugene ignored her, however, and instead waited for his daughter to exit the library. Then he addressed Stanley.

"Are you going to write to her while we are in Orae?"

"Um, I was planning to write, sir."

Eugene nodded slowly, "Then you should probably know that the address has changed a bit. Something about Orae postal laws. Anyway, a smart kid like you can figure it out. Merry Christmas, Stan."

"Merry Christmas, your Highness." Stanley replied, bowing to the prince consort.

"I'll have a word with the eyeglass repairman on my way out of town. You'll get your spectacles back soon enough."

"Thank you, your-." But Eugene had already gone, and the librarian assistant allowed his words to die in the silence of the library.

* * *

"Mommy, is there really going to be snow in Orae?" Ginger asked, her eyes bright with the possibility.

Rapunzel nodded, "Yes, Ginger. There will be a lot of snow—maybe more than usual."

Thomas, sitting across from his mother and next to Ginger, said, "Just wait, Gin'. I'll teach you how to throw a proper snowball. And we can make a snowman too!"

"Just don't feed the carrot nose to the pet rabbit again, Tom." His mother said, laughing fondly.

The boy smirked, "Harry told me to do it. But he never said anything about a snowman until Alfred had eaten the carrot."

"Mommy, can I make snow angels?" Ginger asked eagerly.

"That and so much more. You can do almost anything in the snow."

"Wow."

Thomas grinned, "I bet us boys can beat you girls in a sledding race."

His sister stuck out her tongue, "Nuh-uh! Lil' Harriet and I will beat you!"

Rapunzel watched as one of the many arguments Thomas and Ginger often held throughout the day began to take place. She shook her head, wondering if Felicia ever had this kind of trouble with her children, when the coach door opened. Annabelle entered the coach and slid onto the seat next to her mother. She looked unusually annoyed.

"Annie, what's wrong?"

"I'm mad at Dad." Annabelle replied sullenly, folding her arms.

Her mother frowned, "Whatever for?"

"His timing is horrible and his memory's too good for him. He asked me about Pooh when Stan was standing there."

"Aw, Pooh." Rapunzel smiled, to her daughter's extreme consternation.

"_Mom_, you're not helping!"

"I'm sorry, dear. I just haven't heard you mention him for years."

"There's a reason for that." Annabelle muttered.

Her mother sighed and began to stroke Annabelle's hair, "I'm sure your father was not meaning anything by-."

Her daughter interrupted her, exasperating, "And _then_ he barged in while I was saying goodbye to him, Mom! Doesn't he know anything about privacy?"

"He barged in when you were saying goodbye to whom?"

"Stan! And Dad just comes in there, ordering me to the coach all the while sizing Stan up like he's a punching bag just waiting to be clobbered and-."

"Okay, Fitzherbert clan!" Eugene said cheerfully, climbing into the carriage to cram himself next to his youngest children. "Time to go to-." He stopped, noticing the stern glances both his wife and daughter were giving him.

"What?"

Annabelle turned her face to the window to look angrily out at the footmen preparing the coach for departure. Eugene raised an eyebrow and shrugged to his wife.

Rapunzel smiled uncomfortably, "I'll tell you later, dear."

There was a faint kick as the coach started off, the high cry of the driver calling out into the morning air. Eugene cast a sideways glance at his scowling daughter and muttered, "We'll be stopping downtown for a few minutes before leaving the city."

His wife nodded, "All right. Did you have some last minute business to take care of?"

"You could say that." He replied, wondering how just long the trip to Orae would seem now that one of his children was mad at him and the other two were squabbling about a sled race.

Unfortunately, he figured it would be a fairly long time.

He was right.

* * *

"Where's the snow?" Ginger asked despairingly, gazing out the window at the passing heather.

Her mother smiled, "Sweetie, there won't be any snow for a while."

"But Tom said there'd be snow."

Thomas stuck his head out from around his father, clarifying, "I said there'd be snow at _Orae_, Gin'. We're not in Orae yet."

"Oh." Ginger mumbled, turning again back to the window.

Eugene followed her gaze, seeing the rolling highlands of the eastern end of Corona. There were not as many cities here, due to its distance from the capital. They _had_ passed by a few villages, but now even these small settlements were getting scarcer and scarcer as the coach continued to wind its way across the hills. The air was colder as well, making the inside of the carriage chilly.

He could feel the little girl scooting closer to him, snuggling up for warmth. On his other side, Thomas had taken out his slingshot to test its strength. Eugene had put in a new band since the old one had snapped, and as of yet, he had not allowed his son the chance to shoot it. One half of his brain wondered how long he could keep Thomas from shooting it out the window. The other half was preoccupied with his older daughter, and how she had refused to look at him ever since they had left the capital.

Annabelle was sitting opposite Ginger, her face also trained to the window. She had her arms crossed and her face narrowed in a glare that made her look remarkably like her mother on a bad day. She seemed to be slowly boiling, a dangerous mixture of anger and annoyance festering just under the surface. Normally, Annabelle would patiently accept the faults of her father. But this time he had touched something that she had considered off limits. And now she was mad.

Eugene watched his daughter, wondering if he, in his God-given position of fatherhood, had gone slightly overboard with the whole 'stay away from my daughter, punk' routine. He knew she liked the library kid. He knew that he probably should not have interrupted their goodbyes—despite the hug.

The prince consort squeezed his hands into a fist. Just thinking about it made him—what was it? Protective. Super protective. Incredibly super protective. Incredibly super protective and maybe a little more suspicious than was necessary.

But did he really have any reason to be like that? He knew he could trust his daughter—and she _was_ only thirteen. Along with that, from what he knew of Stanley, the library kid was a good guy. But he was also two years older than Annabelle. And fifteen was a dangerous age. Eugene could remember what he had been like at fifteen, and he dreaded what his own son would be like at fifteen. As a father, he should not trust boys at the age of fifteen. No… no definitely not trusting.

Yet—Eugene looked at his daughter again, and saw the furious light in her eyes. Had he really done something so terrible as to earn that? Or was she just overreacting? Or was _he_ the one who had overreacted? Really, though, his response to Stanley hugging his daughter had been severely restrained. The first time he saw them, he wanted to tackle the library kid to the ground and maybe throw him out the window for good measure. But instead he had done what his wife would have urged him, and interfered without any 'physical violence'.

Apparently, though, interfering at all was more than overstepping the line. Annabelle acted like he had gleefully skipped over the line and then called a herd of wild horses to come trample it into nonexistence while he drank lemonade in the background. It was not as if he had _planned_ to embarrass her. He did not spend every night thinking up new ways to wreck his daughter's budding relationship. Though, he would admit, he _did_ spend a few hours last night thinking up suitable threats against the librarian's assistant until his wife had asked him to stop growling so much.

Eugene sighed, still struggling with this predicament, and glanced down at his other daughter. He frowned.

"Ginger-snap, what are you doing to my hand?"

Ginger looked up from where she had been industriously drawing on her father's fingers with a thin piece of chalk. She smiled and returned to her work, replying, "I ran out of paper."

"But you had a whole sketchpad. How could you possibly-?"

"Mommy borrowed some."

Eugene turned to see his wife grinning sheepishly at him. She had the sketchpad in her hand, doodling on the last page. He raised an eyebrow.

Rapunzel shrugged defensively, "I'm only drawing on the last page and Ginger said she didn't mind."

"Sweetheart-," Eugene began calmly, even as Ginger continued to scribble on his hand, "-I thought you had one of your own."

She sighed, making a minuscule scratch with her pencil, "It's in the luggage. I forgot to take it out before the foot-boys loaded the coach."

"Uh-huh…" He smirked, his troublesome daughter thoughts rapidly being replaced by amusement.

Rapunzel smiled, avoiding looking at his face and pleading, "Eugene, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know exactly what."

He grinned, remarking casually, "Oh, I don't know—do you mean like I—ouch!" Eugene winced, glancing down at his daughter, "Ginger-snap, not so hard."

"Sorry, Daddy."

"What are you drawing, anyway?"

"Family." Ginger muttered, poking at his index finger with her chalk.

Eugene narrowed his eyes, "What was that?"

"I'm drawing a-."

"SNOW!" Thomas's shout resounded throughout the coach as he gazed, open-mouthed, out the window and to the fields beyond.

Ginger sprang up onto the coach seat, gaping at the outside world. For a long moment, Eugene could not figure out why his son had just deafened him. Then he noticed the slightest layer of white covering the ground. He grinned. There was frost outside.

"It's snow!" Ginger cheered, beaming at the passing, ice-coated grass.

"It's not snow." Her sister declared grumpily, "It's frost."

Thomas rolled his eyes, retorting, "Come on, Annie, it's snow!"

"So pretty…" Ginger sighed happily.

Her brother snorted, "It's not pretty, Gin'—it's _awesome_! I can't wait until there's more and then I'll make a snowball and-!"

Annoyed by her siblings' misplaced excitement, Annabelle turned to her mother, pleading, "Mom, can't you tell them that it's just frost?"

Rapunzel frowned, "Annie, don't you remember when you saw snow for the first time?"

"Not really."

"Well, Annie, you should, considering that you practically jumped out of the carriage." Eugene remarked, laughing slightly. His grin faded at the glare Annabelle gave him. After another second, she apparently had glared enough because she then returned to staring sullenly out the window.

Eugene looked at his wife, receiving only a sympathetic half-smile in return. Suddenly, his youngest daughter grabbed his hand to resume her drawing, chattering enthusiastically about the 'snow'.

Minutes passed by, and then Ginger broke away from her description of the outside with a question.

"Do you think there'll be more up in Orae, Daddy?"

"Ginger-snap-," he winced as she poked his skin with the end of the chalk, "-I'm sure there's going to be tons of snow. But your sister is right—it's just—ow!"

"Sorry. Almost done."

"What are you drawing?"

His daughter released his hand, smiling, "I told you—family."

"Fam-?" Eugene stared at his fingers.

She was right. She had drawn a family. Their family.

"Is that-?" He stared at his middle finger, seeing the tiny markings upon it. "Me?"

"Yep."

Eugene grinned, whispering, "I've got a goatee… and your mother's the pointer…"

"And I'm the littlest one. Annie's the one next to you and-," Ginger wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the base of his thumb, "-Tom's the short stubby one."

Her brother's forehead wrinkled in frustration as he complained: "No, I'm not! I don't want to be the fat one!"

"Hey, who said I had a fat thumb?" His father demanded, turning to look at him.

"Um… no one?" Thomas flashed him a wide grin of feigned innocence.

Eugene smirked and rumpled his son's hair, "Nice try, buddy."

He moaned, squirming away from his father's hand, "_Dad_—stop."

"Rapunzel, look what your daughter has done to my hand." Eugene held out his hand for his wife's inspection.

Rapunzel smiled, carefully examining her husband's fingers, "Very good, Ginger."

She looked up at her, "Do you like it, Mommy?"

"Yes, I think it's very sweet. But you know he'll have to wash it off eventually."

"That's okay. I can always draw it again."

"I don't want to be the fat one." Thomas muttered.

His mother sighed, replying soothingly, "You're not the fat one, Tom. You're just the wayward one."

"What's 'wayward' mean?" He asked.

"Means you run off and get into trouble." Eugene answered.

Thomas grinned smugly, "Oh yeah, that's me."

"I wonder where you got _that_ from." Rapunzel said, glancing over at her husband.

"Hey-," Eugene pointed at her, "-_you_ were the one who ran away from home."

She smirked at him mischeviously. Eugene sighed in defeat.

"All right, I helped. But for the record-," he raised his hands, "-I was forced into it."

"There's more snow!" Ginger exclaimed, checking the window again.

"Of course there's more snow, Gin'." Her brother said, rolling his eyes. "We're getting closer to Orae, after all."

"Lil' Harriet always told me about the snow—she says that they have snow even in the summer."

Rapunzel smiled, responding, "They have _some_ snow in the summer, dear. But that's usually in the highest mountains and not where the castle is."

Ginger turned to her father, "What does the castle look like?"

"Big and ugly."

"_Eugene_." His wife gave him a disapproving look.

He shrugged, "What? Even Harold says it's ugly. I mean, the castle's basically a giant, blocky series of buildings all clustered behind this giant wall. And it's all grey. Grey and gloomy."

"At least it's warm." Annabelle murmured, shivering and pulling her arms tighter around herself.

Eugene frowned, "Do you want my jacket?"

She shook her head, "No."

"But you're cold."

"I'm fine."

Eugene sighed, "Annie, I don't-."

"I'm fine, Dad! Just—just stop…" Annabelle curled up tighter, her words dying into inaudible mutterings.

Both parents exchanged a short, tense conversation via facial expressions. Eventually, Eugene nodded and settled himself back in his seat, allowing his youngest daughter to perform a puppet show with his scribbled-on fingers.

With Ginger providing squeaky voices for his fingers, and Thomas arguing that _his_ voice wasn't that squeaky, Eugene gazed at his eldest daughter. He would have to have a word with her—and soon.

* * *

"Eugene, did you remember to pack the soap?" Rapunzel asked, setting her suitcase on the side table. Pascal, having hidden in her coat pocket the entire duration of their trip, was now snoozing on her husband's pillow.

"Hmm?"

"Did you pack the soap?"

Eugene, sitting in an armchair by the fire, replied, "I assumed there would be complimentary soap at the inn, dear."

"Why would you assume that?"

"Because all the inns in Corona had complimentary soap."

His wife sighed and turned to look at him, "We're not in Corona, Eugene. We're in Orae."

"Which is why-," Eugene flipped open a flap on his knapsack, "-I packed extra soap."

Her green eyes narrowed, and she walked over to snatch the package of soap from her husband. Eugene grinned—but she could see a difference in his smile. He was not happy, and she knew exactly why.

Upon finally arriving at Goatbeard's Inn on the outskirts of Orae, the royal family of Corona had gratefully exited their coach and entered the warm common room of the establishment. The second floor had been rented in advance for the night, and a meal was waiting for them upon the table. After eating, the family had retreated into their respective rooms.

Goatbeard's Inn was designed for visiting dignitaries, and had its floors set up in respect of that fact. The second floor had two bedrooms and a foldout couch in the shared sitting room. The princess and prince consort took one room, their daughters took the other, and their son was left the couch—which he happily began to turn into a fort. But, even as Thomas started piling blankets and pillows around himself, Annabelle had headed downstairs without a single word to anyone.

"You okay?" Rapunzel asked, sitting down on the coffee table.

"Do I _look_ okay?" Eugene asked glumly.

"No… but neither does your daughter."

"That's just it, Rapunzel. I don't know—well-," he sighed, leaning forward to stare at his hands, "-I know that what I did probably broke a few boundaries."

His wife nodded, asking pointedly, "And what did you do, exactly?"

"I may have—um-," Eugene rubbed the back of his neck, "-been myself more than I should've been. I mean, the kid was hugging her, Rapunzel, and-."

"You interrupted them when they were _hugging_?"

"She's my daughter." He said raptly.

"And Stan's _her_ best friend."

Eugene nodded, "I know, but he's also-."

"A boy. Yes, I've heard." Rapunzel rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Eugene, you are a very good father. I am happy that you love and care about our children so much. I'm thankful for it. But you need to understand that Annie's growing up and she can take care of herself."

"She's only thirteen."

"Be that as it may, she acts older than she looks."

Eugene nodded, "I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

"_Our_ daughter? You're afraid of our Annie doing something you wouldn't approve of?" Rapunzel gazed at him skeptically.

He shook his head, "Well—she wouldn't. But that library kid-."

"You've known Stan since he started following the Head Librarian around at the age of three. And you know his mother."

"_You_ know his mother." Eugene corrected.

"Well, you've at least met his mother. She's one of the finest seamstresses in the entire city and she's also raised her son to be the most soft-spoken, kindest, most serious young gentleman I've ever seen. Stan is a good guy, Eugene. You know he is."

"I know. But he's still-."

"Is it his social standing?"

He raised his eyebrows, "What? No! No—I'd never care about that if Annie liked him enough."

"Not that her liking him really means anything. Once again, I remind you that she's only thirteen." Rapunzel said evenly, adjusting the hem of her dress.

"But that's when they start getting… _ideas_."

His wife frowned, "Who's 'they'?"

"_Teenagers_." Eugene shuddered as he said the word, clearly unable to conceive his daughter as belonging to that particular group of individuals.

"Well, it's only natural. You shouldn't be that much surprised about it."

"I'm not, I just—when did we ever have a teenager?" He asked, slumping back in his chair and gazing at the crackling flames in the grate.

"When Annie's last birthday came around."

"Is there some hidden rule that as soon as your kid enters adolescence, being her father becomes ten times more complicated?"

Rapunzel pursed her lips, replying, "If there is, I haven't heard of it. Anyway, Eugene, you've got to go talk to her."

Her husband stared at her, "Sweetheart, _please_. I have no clue what to say."

"It's not like Annie hasn't been angry with you before."

"But now it's… different. _She's_ different." Eugene groaned, pounding his forehead, "How am I supposed to do this?"

"Well-," Rapunzel stood up and came over to rub his shoulders, "-you go downstairs and find her. Then you be the best father you can be. Explain why you acted the way you did, and tell her what you're afraid of."

"_Everything_?"

"Everything that you think she needs to know, dear. You're an amazing dad, Eugene." She kissed him on the cheek. "Just try your best. She'll understand."

* * *

Eugene scanned the bar and dining room that made up the lobby of Goatbeard's Inn. There were crowds of well-dressed merchants, noblemen, and foreign ambassadors, and their respective families. But amid the talking, eating, and sometimes sleeping people, he could not find any sign of his daughter. Eugene was starting to get worried. She would not leave, would she?

"Innkeeper." He called the bearded man over. "Have you seen a young girl—a—a _teenager_ with long brown hair and a furred coat?"

"Yes sir. She went outside to sit on the porch. Ordered a cup of cider and-," he nodded to the front door, "-she's sitting out there now."

"Thank you." Eugene hurried over to the door and strode outside and into the night.

The chill wind hit him as soon as he left the building. Snow lay in heaps about the inn and upon the quiet streets of the Oraen outpost. Matter of fact, it was still snowing. Little flakes were drifting down beyond the roof of the porch, glinting in the light streaming out from the inn windows.

Eugene glanced around, seeing a group of customers sitting on rocking chairs beside the door, puffing on pipes. The little wisps of smoke curled up and disappeared into the silent darkness. He turned to view the opposite end of the porch and spotted her sitting on a bench set just behind the railing.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Eugene walked slowly over to her as the cold air made him shiver. He wished he had brought his jacket with him.

Annabelle heard his footsteps, and she glanced up as he approached. She was cradling her cup of cider in her hands, and she had her coat pulled tightly around her. At least she was warm.

"Do you want me to go back inside?" Annabelle asked, staring at her drink.

Eugene shook his head, "No, you don't have to do that if you don't want to. Um… can I sit down?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

Her father sat down on the bench and clapped his hands together aimlessly. He nodded at the cider, "That stuff any good?"

Annabelle shrugged, replying quietly, "It's made with apples from Florence. Doesn't taste as good as the kind Chef Arnold makes with the apples from the stable orchards."

"Ah. Well, maybe when we get back home Chef Arma—Arth—Alber—Arnold will make you some."

She smiled slightly, "Maybe."

"Right." Eugene listened to the strong call of the wind, "So—was the trip unbearable for you?"

"Sir?"

"You know—having your little brother and sister jabbering away about the frost and your mom stealing Ginger-snap's sketchpad. And—and Thomas shooting his slingshot and breaking the coach window." He grimaced, "_That_ will be awkward to explain to Harold."

Annabelle smirked, replying, "Harry is just like Tom. Besides, Mr. Harold will probably laugh about it."

"Yeah. He tends to do that a lot. Well-," Eugene added, "-that and eat."

"_Dad_." It was amazing how much she could sound like his wife.

He grinned, "Hey, Annie, they don't call him 'Big Harold of Orae' for nothing."

"If Mom could hear you-."

"And yet, she can't." Eugene looked at his daughter, pleased to see that she was smiling at him again. She even had those cute little dimples he absolutely adored. Now, here came the hard part.

"Annie, there's something I need to say to you."

"Okay." Her response had the slightest edge of argument on it.

He paused for a moment, allowing a silence fall between them. The gust blowing off the surrounding peaks provided only scant background music. It was quieter, up here in the mountains. There was no ocean. No waves crashing upon the island shore. No seagulls. No tolling bell down at the guardhouse.

Eugene suddenly became aware at how hard and fast and loudly his heart was beating. He hoped she could not hear it.

Then he took a deep breath, "I—I want to apologize for how I acted today. Honestly, there was no—no real reason to do what I did and I'm sorry that I did it. I'm sorry that I mentioned Pooh-bear and I'm sorry that I-," he coughed, "-interrupted you and your—your friend." Eugene closed his eyes, finishing, "And I'm sorry that I'm overprotective, ridiculously suspicious, and crazy."

"_Dad_."

"Too much?" He smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd try to cover as much as I could. You know, in case I missed something."

"I don't think you're crazy."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Well-," Annabelle remedied, grinning, "-most of the time."

"Your mother would probably agree with you there." Her father said softly. "Though, personally, I think I'm crazy _because_ I married her. I may have been dancing on the edge of craziness before meeting her, but _she's_ the one that did me in."

"Do you regret it?"

"Never could." He smiled, "After all, I've got such wonderful kids from marrying your mother. You, of course, being one of them."

Annabelle's smile faltered, and she glanced away.

Eugene sighed, "Annie, about the—about Stan-."

"Dad—don't. Just—just let me talk, please?" She turned her brown eyes to gaze up at him.

He nodded, "All right, dear."

She set her cup on the railing, its bottom scraping the wood. Leaning back in her seat, Annabelle said slowly, "I'm not… I'm just thirteen."

Eugene did not say anything, though he did rub his arms as goosebumps—the fifth set he had had since coming outside—arose on his skin.

"I—I don't know what I'm doing yet or who I am and I don't really know how to—how to react to certain things. How to react to certain people, certain feelings, certain-," she shook her head, "-anything. Dad, I don't know what I'm doing because… I've just started." Annabelle looked at her father, "And I'm scared."

He watched her struggle with the thoughts forming in her mind. It hurt to see her so confused—but she had asked him to listen. So that is what he would do.

"And it just seems that you're jumping to conclusions and that you don't really understand what exactly is going on. Dad, I'm just friends with Stan. We're just—we're just really good friends. Best friends. And yet you, and the other girls and some of his friends and—and even _Uncle Albert _for goodness sake all seem to think that we…" she shut her eyes tightly, breaking off.

Eugene waited for her to continue, straining against his self-inflicted bonds of silence.

"And we're not." Annabelle said finally, sighing. "I'm just thirteen—I don't want to think about relationships or—or anything like that right now. And I don't want you to think that I do because, Dad, all I want to be, right now, is his friend. I mean, I like him—he likes me—but that's it. That's all."

He nodded slowly.

"But I don't know—everyone else-."

"Hey." Eugene set his arm around her shoulders. "Everyone else doesn't matter. You're the one that matters and clearly, you just want to be friends with him. Am I right?"

She moved slightly beneath his arm, mumbling, "Yes sir."

"Then be friends with him. Get to know him better, if that's even possible, and—and see what happens. But ignore the sidelines because, frankly, you're the one in the game. Even I can't make any decisions for you."

"But I don't know-."

He shook his head, cutting in, "You're not going to know. _I_ don't know how to be the dad of a teenager—but I'm still going to try my hardest to be the best I can be for your sake. But Annie, you're growing up. You're—you're going to have to face problems like this and, as far as I'm concerned, you've done a great job so far. But life—life is complicated. You don't know what's going to happen next. You don't know if a friend is becoming more than a friend, or if you should buy reading glasses 'cause the words are getting blurry, or if you should try growing a mustache just to annoy your wife, or if-."

"Dad." Annabelle elbowed him in the ribs.

Eugene laughed, "Sorry. Rambling again—I apologize. Just-," he rubbed her shoulder with his hand, thinking, "-as you get older and more mature there are certain things you need to know and-."

"Wait—wait… is this-?" She moved away from him, tilting her head to the side. "You're not actually going to-?"

"What?"

"Didn't Mom already have this conversation with me?"

Eugene frowned, "What conversation?"

Annabelle rolled her eyes, "You know, the one about how babies are-."

He shook his head frantically, interrupting, "No-no-_no_ that's not what I'm trying to tell you! I know you've had that talk, and thank goodness your mother was willing to—anyway, um-," Eugene swallowed hard, his heartbeat slowing down, "-that's not what I'm trying to say."

"Then what are you trying to say, Dad? Because I'm starting to get—no—no I'm already completely confused."

He looked at her, and she gave him a faint smile.

Eugene cleared his throat, "What I'm trying to say, Annie, is that I—I understand. I know what you're dealing with, and I know that I probably haven't done everything I could do in order to help you deal with it. And I know about the peer pressure and the whole 'puberty nonsense' and I know it's difficult. But you can make it through. And you can talk to me, or your mom, anytime you want. And eventually-," he gave a half-smile, "-eventually life will start making more sense—if it ever did."

"So you—you'll stop glaring at Stan every time you see him?"

Her father grinned, "I'll consider-," she hit his shoulder gently with her own, earning a chuckle, "-I'll stop trying to glare him into oblivion and I'll keep my threats to a minimum." Annabelle sighed in mock exasperation and bumped him again. "I'm kidding. I won't say a word."

"Promise?"

"To the ends of the earth, I promise to not release my inner beast on him."

Annabelle laughed, "'Inner beast?"

Eugene nodded smartly, "Yeah. All fathers have a wild monster kept restrained inside them. At the most dangerous times, the beast will surface and scare the living daylights out of whoever's approaching his kids."

"And what's inside you-," Annabelle grinned, "-a bunny?"

Her father flipped her jacket hood over her eyes, "Ha ha, very clever. You've got your mother's tongue."

She shoved her hood back, smirking, "I think _that_ came from you."

"Nah. Thomas's wanderlust and propensity for trouble, I'll claim, but _that_ remark was definitely something your mother would say."

Annabelle laughed again, even as he flipped her hood over her eyes once more. Then Eugene glanced down at his daughter seriously.

"So, Annie, are we good?"

She nodded, beaming at him, "Yes sir. We're good."

A broad grin spread across his face, "Fantastic."

"By the way, thanks for reminding me about Pooh, Dad. Turns out I didn't have him packed like I wanted. I don't think I could've left without him." His daughter said, smiling nervously at the thought.

His eyes grew distant, "Yeah, I remember when I brought that thing home. There I was, expecting to get a big hug from my daughter after a week of being away, and what does she do?" He made a face at her, "She hugs the bear."

Annabelle giggled at his moan of disappointment.

"You know-," Eugene began casually, "-I never did get that hug."

"Do you want it now?"

He shrugged cheerfully, "Sure."

Annabelle hugged her father tightly, pressing her head against his shoulder as he held her in his arms.

"I love you, Dad."

"And I love you too, Annie. I love you too." Eugene kissed his daughter on the head, smiling.


	21. Vacation at Orae 2

**Author Note**: Sorry about the lateness... AGAIN... this took a lot of time to write for some reason... but I hope you guys enjoy it! :D Oh, and for those of you who don't know, there's apparently going to be a Tangled short made for spring of 2012 about the wedding! :D fun stuff, eh? :D haha anyhoo, thanks for reading, waiting, reviewing, and faving! :D you guys are the best! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

There is a mountaintop—or rather, several mountaintops—covered in snow. At the base of these mountains is a very large cliff ledge. So large, in fact, that the capital city of Orae rests quite comfortably upon it.

A sprawling, walled city of stone houses, slate roofs, and streets littered with glowing lampposts, the capital remained quite stark against the snowy landscape. Each street rose up higher and higher along the mountain base until finally reaching the great castle of the royal family. The castle was a tall structure, walled and heavily protected by battlements. The three Keeps of the King stood at the very center of the castle, all attached together by long galleries that ran through the lower three floors.

Upon the topmost turret of the middle keep flew the banner of Orae—a dark blue background resplendent with an impressive white buck's head, a golden crown resting upon his enormous horns.

It being the winter months in that part of the world, darkness had come on early. Now only the flickering fires in home hearths, street lamps, and the torches along the city walls illuminated the deep, quiet night.

But the night was not so quiet.

Three of the royal guardsmen huddled around a blazing brazier set in the top left corner of the castle walls. They pulled their furred cloaks tighter about themselves, listening to the wind howl and the snow falling from the slanted roof of the royal chapel. One of the men withdrew his long hunting knife to stir the coals in the brazier, a grin crossing his whiskery face when his action released more warmth.

As he sat back in his seat, the coal-stirrer spoke.

"Do you think the king and his guests are having a good dinner tonight?" The man sounded wistful, his eyes following the sparks from the fire.

One of his comrades nodded, grunting, "Probably are. You know how excited Head Chef Samson gets when he has the chance to show up the other chefs. He'll have made them a feast."

"But that Chef Arnold of Corona is supposed to be one of the finest cooks in the whole world." The first speaker remarked cheerfully. "What if he and Sam had a contest? Each man and his kitchen staff make a full five-course meal—with us as the judges!"

His companion slapped him upside the head, barking, "Oh, shaddup, Todd. You know full well that the closest we'll get to tasting a head chef's dish is when they have leftovers."

"And they won't have leftovers, Elliot?"

"With the families of ten kingdoms swarming upon the castle? Nah. Looks like we'll just have to settle with our ordinary rations tonight." Elliot muttered morosely.

The third man rose to his feet, rolling his eyes, "You two are the lousiest soldiers I've ever laid eyes on. For goodness sake, you've got the plushiest job in the army: watching over the royal family and whatever foreign dignitaries happen to be visiting. Stop complaining about the food and start working again. Now!"

"Yes sir, Captain Jacobson." Both Todd and Elliot replied as their superior officer stalked off into the chill night.

Todd then cast a sideways glance at his fellow soldier. "Do you think they'll be having chicken?"

"Roast chicken—with sweet sauce imported from the Torren Peninsula." Elliot predicted glumly. "I can just imagine it now… Prince Harold is probably commenting on it as we speak."

* * *

"Nice and tangy, with a delicate hint of sweetness only the saucepans of the Peninsula can provide." Harold said thoughtfully, a half-eaten drumstick in his hand.

Eugene raised an eyebrow but did not respond. He was too busy making sure his son did not decide to demonstrate his slingshot's capabilities. Thankfully, however, Thomas and Harry, Jr. were too busy enthusiastically eating and jabbering to bother trying to one-up each other. The two boys were the same age and had always been remarkably good friends. Harry was built much like his father—bigger than expected. And, also like his father, he had an earthshaking laugh that seemed to make the room tremble.

Not that the castle dining chamber was very hushed to begin with. After all, there were at least ten different kingdoms being represented here tonight. And the ambassadors, princes, kings, high-ranking noblemen, their wives, and their children provided plenty of noise to more than slightly deafen the waiters lining the walls.

"Eugene-," Rapunzel turned away from where she had been conversing with Clara of Roan, "-aren't you going to try the chicken?"

"Hmm?" Eugene craned his neck to see Ginger, Little Harriet, and Helga breaking into a rush of giggles.

His wife sighed, nudging his elbow, "Your dinner, dear. Eat your dinner."

"Just a moment." He turned to see his eldest daughter in a whispered discussion with Big Harriet and Michael's daughter Jennifer. What could they be talking about?

"Eugene." Rapunzel finally resorted to setting her hand—wet from her water glass—upon his wrist.

Eugene jumped, his skin suddenly turning icy cold and his knee knocking painfully against the nearest table leg.

None of the other guests seemed to notice the sound, too engrossed in debating, remarking, and narrating on events in their lives as well as the happenings in everybody else's.

The prince consort of Corona looked down at his wife, seeing her familiar smile. "Yes, Rapunzel?"

"Don't worry about the kids." She squeezed his wrist. "Just eat."

"Right." He nodded and stole the fork from the man next to him, having dropped his own on the floor when his wife had startled him.

Eugene set about cutting into his chicken breast, his keen ears easily picking out the conversations going on around him.

Oswald, steward of Roan and husband to Clara, leaned over to speak with Harold. "Tell me, Harold, how are the wool exports from Orae doing against the wool exports from Dorian's kingdom of Gralt?"

"Very well, actually. Unfortunately for Dorian, his herds of sheep have experienced a tragic epidemic, causing their wool to be patchy and thin. Thankfully, the goats of Orae are built of hardier stuff. Our creatures have been giving an abundance of wool."

"And what about the milk market?"

"There is not as much demand for goat milk at the moment. Corona's cows are seeing to that." Harold gave Eugene a sly wink, laughing so loudly that the decorative swords on the wall shook. "But of course, what's a little friendly competition between friends, eh, Fitzherbert?"

Eugene grinned, "Let it get too friendly, Harold, and you might find your goats completely out of a job."

The prince of Orae laughed again, slapping Oswald on the back and knocking the monocle from his eye. "See that, Ozwick? Fitzherbert's always had a good sense of humor."

"It's Oswald, sir." The steward replied, fumbling about for his monocle (which had, incidently, landed in the butter dish).

On Eugene's right, Prince Michael of Killrae argued politics with Baron Richard from Elcott. Michael was a conservative when it came to economic and cultural issues, holding to the traditions he had been taught by his grandfather. Richard, a hothead and a young baron, clung to the liberal end of the political spectrum. Thus it was that both men were hard at work trying to convince the other that he was in the wrong while maintaining that he, himself, was in the right. It was a common argument the two always fell into, and their wives, sitting next to them, merely rolled their eyes and continued talking about the recent elopment of a famously widowed countess.

A sudden ruckus at the opposite end of the table took his attention off the vicarious affair. The clamor, loud enough to break through the general hubbub, had occurred when a waiter tripped over an apple one of King Gregory's children had dropped. The waiter had been carrying a silver platter of jello cups, had tripped on the apple and then on the rug covering the flagstones. Now most of the cups were tumbling and spinning around on the hard floor as the waiter was helped to his feet by his fellows.

Eugene watched as a jello cup rolled slowly past, following it all the way to the end where his son surreptitiously picked it up. The prince consort narrowed his eyes and pointed at Thomas, mouthing a warning.

Thomas nodded, but the expression on his face his father recognized all too well. That boy was up to something.

"Rapunzel, I think that-." Eugene started to say when Harold interrupted him.

"Fitzherbert, what do you think about the problems rising in the Midlands?" The prince of Orae asked, spearing a stack of baked carrots with his fork.

"Well-," Eugene cast another warning look at his son before muttering, "-aren't the Midlands constantly in trouble somehow?"

Oswald carefully sliced up his potato, commenting, "Yes, they are. However, Corona has always been first to act whenever a crisis in the Midlands occurs. I mean-," he pointed his knife at Eugene, "-technically, the people there _are_ descendants of Corona's citizens. I know some may not consider them worthy of protecting. However, in the past, the royal line has often lended a hand or even a whole arm to ensure the chaos there does not utterly destroy the people."

"That has been the theme, yes." Eugene replied, half-wondering and half-hoping his wife was listening and would quickly think of a pretext to free him from the topic.

After all, he was getting tired of talking about how messed up the Midlands were. Everyone knew they were messed up. _He_ knew especially, given the number of reports he dealt with day after day about the country stuck in the near middle of the continent. But why did every person with the remotest bit of power suddenly assume that the Midlands were the priority of every conversation between semi-equals?

His ears suddenly became aware that Harold and Oswald had decided to continue the chat without him. And now Prince Gregory of Pharx was joining in, clearing his throat and saying that in no certain terms did the Midlands resemble Pharx—even with that sticky piece of history about the whole civil war that resulted in a change of monarchy.

Eugene took a bite out of his cheese biscuit, planning on using the 'oops, my mouth is full' excuse to avoid another conversation about work. Then, of course, at that moment his wife touched his arm.

"Eugene, Ginger is trying to get your attention."

He swallowed, coughed, and asked, "What makes you think that?"

Rapunzel smiled, answering lightly, "Considering that she's been calling 'daddy' for the past minute…"

"Be right back." Eugene hastily scooted his chair out, nearly knocked over the waiter who had hurried forward to help him, and went down to where his youngest was still calling for him.

He crouched down next to her chair, "What is it, Ginger-snap?"

Ginger beamed at him and then turned to Little Harriet and Helga, explaining breathlessly, "_See_? I told you he's the same guy!"

Helga—a year older than her sister and Ginger—shook her head. "I don't see it."

Little Harriet frowned and jabbed a spoonful of pudding at Eugene, splashing some vanilla on his nose. "Of course he's the same guy, Helga! He's Ginger's dad and that means he married Miss Rapunzel!"

Eugene patiently wiped the pudding from his nose, asking, "Ginger-snap, what are you guys-?"

"He may have married Miss Rapunzel, but it doesn't mean he was Flynn Rider." Helga retorted, crossing her arms.

"Yes he is!" Ginger protested, grabbing her father by the collar and tugging. "Please, tell them, Daddy! Tell them you're Flynn Rider!"

"Ginger-snap, let go." Eugene easily removed her hand and rose to his feet, looking sternly down at the trio of girls. He sighed, "Tell you what—whenever I get the chance, I will personally tell you all about how Flynn Rider stole a crown, got licked in the ear, and eventually saved the lost princess. But for now-," he turned his daughter back around to face the table, "-you girls need to finish eating."

"But Daddy-."

"Not now, Ginger-snap. Later." He patted her shoulder and headed back to his seat.

"Is she okay?" Rapunzel asked as her husband took his chair.

Eugene nodded, "Yep. But I hope dinner doesn't take too long because I think the kids are getting bored."

Rapunzel smiled and reached over to dab the pudding smear off his nose. "You've been 'puddinged'."

"Better than 'fryingpanned'." He replied, smirking.

"Oh, you are _so_ getting a snowball in the face for that one."

Her husband chuckled as he returned to his meal. "Darling, I will be more than happy to accept your challenge tomorrow morning. We'll even bring the kids and use it as a lesson on proper snowball handling." Eugene cut himself another piece of chicken, "How early do you want to get up?"

"Depends. Can you spend an entire day knowing that you've been soundly beaten by your wife in a snowball fight?" Rapunzel asked jokingly.

"No—but I can spend the entire day gloating over yet another triumphant win against the lost princess."

She laughed, "You _are_ ambitious, aren't you?"

Eugene took a gulp of his drink, shaking his head, "Ambitious, no. Confident in my snowball-fighting capabilities, yes."

His wife smiled mischievously as she began to salt her mashed potatoes, "Tomorrow, you'll be eating your words faster than you're eating your chicken."

"At least this stuff is edible. The stuff at Salis-." Eugene stopped when Rapunzel clapped a hand over his wrist.

She nodded over to where Prince Clyde and his wife Bonny were listening to a long tale as told by Ambassador Orthus of Axuria. "Shhh. They might hear you."

"Clyde doesn't care if-."

"But his wife might. Remember, _she's_ the Head Chef's daughter." Rapunzel released his wrist and went back to her food, murmuring, "You need to learn some tact, dear."

"Tact?" He frowned, and then gave a little assenting nod. "All right."

Harold's wife, Felicia, leaned across the table and started speaking to Rapunzel.

"Rapunzel, did you receive that letter I sent you two weeks ago?" Felicia asked, carefully moving a platter of goat meat out of her husband's reach.

"Probably. I get so much mail some days it's almost like I'm drowning in it." Rapunzel said, sighing.

"It's your own fault for being next in line for the crown, dear." Felicia teased with a smile. "But anyway, what I wrote to you about was that there is a new botique in the city. It's an absolutely darling place, with all kinds of merchandise. Slightly expensive, but that's only fair considering it is the holidays and people are still doing last minute Christmas shopping."

Eugene groaned, not entirely sure he wanted to hear about scarfs and dresses and other retail for the remainder of his meal. Felicia was a kind woman, but as her husband had often lamented to Eugene, she liked to shop. Nay—not like—the princess of Orae positively _adored_ the experience. And Eugene feared that she might corrupt his wife.

However, fortunately for him, Rapunzel enjoyed shopping, but not nearly as much as Felicia.

Rapunzel smiled after Felicia finished a lengthy description of the various wares the botiqued offered. "To be perfectly honest, Felicia, I'm one of the people who haven't finished their Christmas shopping."

Felicia raised her eyebrows, "Ah, late this year?"

"Late every year." Rapunzel nudged Eugene's elbow, deploring, "There are just _some_ people who are harder to buy for than others."

The princess of Orae waved her hand dismissively, "Just get him a cravat—that's what I always get Harold."

"I've got one in every color now." Harold said, making a face at Eugene. "I didn't know there were that many shades of puce."

Eugene narrowed his eyes, "What's 'puce'?"

"You tell me." Harold responded grumpily, even as he glanced around to locate the dish of goat meat.

Rapunzel shook her head, casting a sideways glance at her husband, "I don't think a cravat will do this year, Felicia. Eugene's a special case. Besides, he always tries to outdo me when it comes to giving Christmas presents."

"You could do what your dad does and give me next year's almanac." Eugene suggested, grinning.

"You'll only read the one _he_ gave you, though." His wife sighed.

"True—but at least it's not a cravat."

Harold, having given up on his quest for the goat meat and settling for another drumstick, nodded at Eugene. "Try asking for a new razor, Fitzherbert. You can get rid of that scruff on your chin."

The prince consort frowned, "What are you talking about? You've got a full beard."

"Yes, and you should consider growing one yourself. I'm telling you—they're much more practical as well as impressive." Harold stroked his beard smugly.

His wife elbowed him in the ribs, ordering, "Harry, leave the poor man alone. He can do what he wants with his face."

"Then how come_ I_ can't do what I want with _my_ face?" He asked impishly.

"Because if you shave your beard I'm never kissing you again."

Harold's face fell, and he said weakly, "What a terrible thought. I didn't know you liked it that much."

"You've never asked." Felicia replied with a small sniff.

Eugene looked at his wife.

"No." Rapunzel said, shaking her head.

"'No' what?"

"No, you can't shave off your goatee. No, you can't grow a full beard. And no, you are _definitely_ not growing a mustache." She replied, her voice quite firm.

Eugene set down his knife and fork, replying calmly, "I wasn't going to ask that."

"Then what were you going to ask?"

"Can you please pass the greenbeans?"

"Oh, sorry." Smiling apologetically, Rapunzel did as asked.

Eugene began refilling his plate, muttering casually, "But the mustache thing is still-."

"No, dear."

"Gotcha."

Dinner progressed into dessert as the main dishes and used plates were whisked away by Chef Samson's kitchen staff. Then trays of chocolate muffins and sugar cookies were brought in along with steaming pots of coffee and hot cocoa.

The guests of the Oraen royal family partook of these delicacies with great enthusiasm—the children particularly.

Eugene winced as he watched his son take yet _another_ muffin off the tray. Thomas would be bouncing off the walls all night long. At least Harold and his wife had deployed a fleet of nannies to handle the kids while their parents got some well-deserved sleep. Although after tonight, Eugene was not entirely sure any of the stern ladies would be willing to watch _his_ children.

Mentally forming an apology for his son's future misdeeds, Eugene picked up his fork and prepared to attack the muffin set before him. He had made it halfway through the delicious steaming chocolatey goodness when something bumped against his foot.

Thinking nothing of it, Eugene reacted instinctively and pulled his foot back.

But then something bumped against his foot again—and this time he recognized the motion. Someone was trying to play footsie with him.

He glanced over at his wife and said, under his breath, "Stop it."

Rapunzel frowned, "Stop what?"

"You know exactly what." Eugene muttered, lifting his right leg up to rest on his left.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes-," he was now forced to move his left foot around, "-you are. You know I don't like that."

Rapunzel glared at him, hissing, "You don't like what? Seriously, Eugene, I'm not doing anything."

"Oh, really?"

Eugene flipped up the tablecloth to stare pointedly at his own feet. His wife's feet weren't touching his however. No—there was a man's boot seeking…

Eugene quickly glanced up to see Harold frowning unhappily at his own wife. Ah…

"I—I think Thomas is doing something he shouldn't. I'll take care of it, though." Eugene hurriedly left his seat and strode over to his son's, shuddering slightly as he went.

Thomas and Harry, Jr. were engaged in a rather violent arm-wrestling competition when Eugene reached them. Harold's other sons Hubert and Hernandez were eagerly cheering them on, unaware of the approaching adult. Several of the younger sons of the visiting royals and nobility were also egging on the combatants, banging fists on the table and roaring out loud insults and encouragement. Meanwhile, some of the older boys glanced down the table to where the girls were sitting. The adolescent boys muttered to each other, laughing about some mysterious joke even as they continued to spectate.

For a moment, Eugene forgot about his son and suddenly had to fight an overwhelming urge to box the teenagers about the ears. Who were they, to be looking at his eldest daughter? And what were they laughing about? His fingers slowly closed into a tight fist, but then Eugene remembered speaking to Annabelle just the night before, and he eased his hand open again. Settling himself with an austere frown, the prince consort glared at the older boys in a way that clearly spelled out his terms. The teenagers immediately pretended to be finishing their dessert, trying to ignore the tall, intimidating father.

Suddenly, Harry, Jr. made a terrific yank and forced Thomas's hand onto the table. Harry, Jr. whooped victoriously, pumping his fists into the air as the crown prince of Corona groaned in his defeat.

"Told you I'd beat you, Tom!" Harry, Jr. declared, grinning broadly.

Thomas shook his head, retorting, "That doesn't mean anything. I can still outrun you any day."

"No you can't." One of the other boys rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, Harry's one of the fastest guys ever."

Thomas narrowed his eyes and protested, "I sure can beat him! I could outrun the castle guard if I had to."

Eugene sighed. He knew whose fault _that_ would be if his son really did manage to annoy the guards into chasing him. And he also knew that the boy would be able to outrun them. There was no doubt about that.

Now, however, was the time of intervention. It was getting late, the kids were obviously done eating, and it was time to herd them to their bedrooms before the dinning chamber suffered catastrophic damage.

"Okay—okay—stop." Eugene said decisively as his son and the other boys continued to argue.

The majority of them obeyed. The ones that did not, however, were soon drowned out as the prince of Orae stood up and started to speak.

"My family, friends, guests, and companions." Harold began expansively, his chest swelling with happiness and food. "Thank you all for undertaking long, arduous journeys to reach Orae for the annual Winter Conference. I hope you have had your fill of Chef Samson's delectable banquet, and that you are all ready to have a good night's rest. We will have one week of vacation and then, three days after Christmas, we'll begin the actual 'conference part' of this get together. Now, I wish you all a very good night. Breakfast is at nine tomorrow morning, but coffee will be served earlier to those among us who don't have the sense to sleep in." The prince of Orae bowed, effectively ending the meal and giving his guests permission to depart for bed.

A little while later, Eugene and his son joined Rapunzel, Annabelle, and Ginger in the hallway. Rapunzel was giving her daughters last-minute reminders to brush their teeth and get to sleep on time, given that the children were to be sleeping a floor below their parents.

"And don't forget to make your beds in the morning." Rapunzel said, looking down at her son. "That goes for you especially, Tom."

"But Mom, the maids-."

"It's polite, dear. Now-," she turned back to her daughters, "-Annie, you're in charge in case anything happens. Make sure your brother and sister behave themselves, and if you need anything at all, just send for us. Our room is the second one to the left of the staircase."

Eugene nodded, adding, "And by the way, we'll be waking you guys up early tomorrow morning to participate in a snowball fight."

His wife frowned at him, but he only grinned in reply.

"A snowball fight?" Thomas's eyes widened. "Really? Aw, this'll be great! Just wait until-."

"But now—bedtime. Goodnight to you all." Rapunzel hugged each of her children goodnight, despite Thomas's protests against it.

Then the royal children of Corona trooped down the corridor with the rest of their companions, leaving their parents to head on upstairs to their own bedroom.

* * *

"I think I ate too much." Eugene said, unbuckling the straps of his suitcase.

"Dear," Rapunzel called from the bathroom, "you say that every time we come here."

Her husband nodded as he removed his pajamas from his luggage, replying, "That's because Harold seems to think everyone eats like he does. Seriously, did you see the size of that platter of venison?"

"It was rather large—but remember he has about twenty guests and the children to think about."

"I still think I ate too much."

"Then pace yourself next time." Rapunzel said as he walked into the bathroom, her chameleon riding on his shoulder.

"Pace myself?"

"Yes." She smiled up at him.

On his shoulder, Pascal abruptly let out a rather wet sneeze.

Eugene sighed and wiped reptile spit off the side of his face, muttering, "I'm starting to miss Corona already."

"We have three weeks."

"I know—it's just… Orae's so completely different. It throws everything off, somehow."

Rapunzel tilted her head slightly, "I thought you liked the wandering life?"

"Well, I did. But I never went to Orae much. Snow's not really my thing." He shrugged, glancing over at the clawed-foot tub sitting over in the corner. "I think I'm going to take a hot bath before going to bed. Relax the muscles, you know."

"Good." His wife turned back to the sink and switched on the faucet. "I like it when you smell clean."

"That makes two of us." Eugene replied, going over to the tub and turning on the tap. As water flooded into the tub, Rapunzel heard him muttering, "Pascal, get off my shirt."

She smirked and continued to brush her teeth.

A half-hour later, Eugene emerged from the steamy bathroom wiggling a washcloth in his ear. His wife was sitting on one of the armchairs provided in their guest room, reading a book outloud to Pascal.

Their bedchamber was dimly lit by candlelight, and the curtains on the windows were closed against the chill. It was a fairly comfortable room, with handsome wallpaper and carpet to set off the dull grey of the flagstones. The room was partitioned into two equal sections by a thicker curtain strung up from the ceiling. One area was dedicated to sleeping while the other was for sitting and relaxing.

Eugene took the remaining armchair, still drying his ear as he glanced around at the room. "This isn't the same room we got the last few times we visited, is it?"

His wife shook her head, "No. Apparently the wallpaper is being redone and the smell of glue is terrible. Felicia said that the day after tomorrow, however, it should be back to normal and we can move in."

"Good thing too." Eugene extracted the washcloth from his ear and balled it up, tossing it in the laundry hamper by the door. "That's one of the rooms that connects to the sauna."

She gave him a stern look, "You're not going to spend your entire vacation time sweating in the sauna, Eugene."

He pointed his finger at her, countering, "I'll have you know we men get most of our work done in there. I must have signed at least fifteen treaties with Harold last year."

"Yes, I remembered that. Dad wasn't too pleased, was he?" Rapunzel asked as she closed her book and allowed Pascal to climb into her hand.

Her husband shrugged, mumbling, "I didn't know the ink would run that much…"

"At least Harold had the scribes copy down extras for you."

"No kidding." Eugene grinned, even as the chameleon let out another sneeze. "Hey, is the frog okay?"

"Cha—nevermind." Rapunzel sighed in resignation and stood up, still cradling her chameleon. "Pascal isn't used to the cold that much. He's not made for it and he needs to keep warm."

"He and everybody else in this joint. Where's the fireplace?"

"Behind you, Eugene."

Eugene got up and trotted over to the small fireplace. There was already tinder and wood in the hearth, but the maids had evidently forgotten to light it. The prince consort quickly located the flint and set to work, striking the flint against the steel blade of his pocketknife. It took a few hits before sparks began to fly, and eventually flames started to lick at the tinder. Eugene spent another minute tending the fire to ensure that it would not go out during the night. Then he rose to his feet and made his way to the bed where his wife had already curled up under the covers.

It was not until Eugene lay down did he realize there was a problem.

"Um, sweetheart?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you scoot over a smidge?"

"'A smidge'?" Rapunzel asked, amused.

He nodded, "Yeah. Just a—a little more."

"Eugene, if I scoot over any more smidges I'm going to fall off."

There was a slight silence broken only by the crackling fireplace, the wind's call outside the windows, and Pascal's inquisitive chirruping.

Then Eugene said, "I think this bed is too small."

"It's fine." Rapunzel replied.

"No, I seriously-," he groaned, standing up to gaze down at the bed, "-think it's made for only one person."

"Eugene, why don't you just get back in-?" She sat up, suddenly recognizing what he was talking about. "Oh… this is a really small bed."

Eugene shook his head, "It's so tiny it could have been made for elves."

Rapunzel frowned at him, and he clarified, "You know—the kind of elves that make shoes or cookies."

"Okay. But there's nothing we can do about it tonight. Just get in bed and go to sleep."

"Rapunzel, it's not going to work."

"Try." She commanded, lying back down.

Rolling his eyes, Eugene blew out the candle and climbed into the bed once more. After shifting uncomfortably around for a few seconds, an idea hit him.

"I know how to solve this. All we need to do-," he wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her closer, grunting, "-is cuddle."

"That would have been more romantic if you hadn't grunted."

"Sorry—it's just that your elbow went into my ribs." He muttered, carefully adjusting so as to make her more comfortable.

Rapunzel moved back slightly so as to rest against him, murmuring, "At least you took a bath tonight."

"I was thinking of you. And, just for the record, I am _so_ glad you're not the type of woman who likes to play footsie."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

A few seconds passed, then Eugene jumped slightly, jerking his foot back and protesting, "_Rapunzel_!"

She grinned, laughing, "I couldn't resist. Besides, this bed is small so it's almost impossible to avoid."

"Yeah, yeah—nice excuse."

Her smile widened, but she did not respond, evidently wanting to go to sleep. He did not blame her, of course. It had been a long trip—several hours crammed in the carriage while trying to keep the kids from biting each other's heads off. Thankfully the ride back was three weeks away, and in the meantime they would be on unofficial vacation, which was always nice.

Just then, something small squirmed his way into Eugene's shirt pocket. Eugene moaned, hissing, "Pascal—out."

"Shhh." Rapunzel set her hand over his.

"He's in my pocket again."

"He's cold."

Eugene wrinkled his nose, "He's wiggling."

"Chameleons have been known to do that on occasion." His wife replied quietly.

"Why do I put up with this?"

She interlaced her fingers in her husband's, answering, "Because you love me."

"Well—yeah. But still…"

"Go to sleep, Eugene."

He stopped talking and instead listened to the wind screaming outside and to the flames in the grate. Soon, soft little chameleon snores began to drift up from his shirt pocket. Then, almost an instant later, his wife fell asleep, and he could feel her breathing slowing down as her body relaxed in his arms. Eugene wondered, even as he himself started to enter unconsciousness, what their children were doing at that very moment.

It was probably a good thing he did not know, or he might not have fallen asleep that night.

* * *

"Charge the battlements!" Thomas yelled, waving his slingshot in the air and laughing madly.

"Charge the what?" Harry, Jr. asked as he gazed up at him from where he lay, sprawled out on the floor.

Thomas, balancing precariously on the headboard of his friend's bed, shrugged, "You know—the little castle things that stick up on the wall."

"_Oh_—battlements." Harry, Jr. got to his feet, grinning. "I thought you said 'cattle-mints' as in-." The rest of his sentence was cut off as Sir Alec's son Juan knocked him over after having done a swan dive from the top of the bookshelf.

Both boys rolled across the floor, wrestling with each other. Thomas watched their progression until they rolled into a bookcase and sent books falling on top of them. Then the crown prince of Corona lifted his face to see the chaos that was going on in the rest of the room.

There were about fifteen boys spending the night in Prince Harry's room. Of course, originally, only four of them were actually supposed to be there (Harry, Jr., Hernandez, Hubert, and Thomas). However, the other boys decided that invading their host's privacy was only necessary, and the sons of noblemen, kings, princes, and other dignitaries snuck in after the stern nannies had departed for the evening. Harry, Jr. was not going to give up his room without a fight, and he recruited the help of his brothers and Thomas in order to defeat the impertinent mob. Four against eleven were not good odds, however, and soon a rather badly organized enlistment took place. In fact, it was so badly organized that Thomas ended up on the wrong team. But by that point the pillow fights and wrestling matches had begun and no one cared much anyway.

Thus, the complete story can be summed up in the following sentence.

There was a full-scale war going on in the Oraen prince's bedroom around midnight.

Over in one corner, Hernandez and Hubert were hurling stuffed animals (as stolen from their sisters' rooms, naturally) at an oncoming group of their fellows. Justin, son of Steward Oswald, received a heavy panda bear in the chest, knocking him down flat. His companion picked up a small stuffed kitten and threw it at Hubert, forcing him to duck. In another corner, one that had been dedicated for the schooling of Prince Harry, three boys were having a paint-fight with jars of different colors. One of these boys had green streaked up the side of his face, and his friend had blue running down his back. Their opponent, a short, shrimpy looking boy from Gralt, looked at if he had been dipped in a man-sized orange and purple vat. He was also winning the skirmish, flinging paint at the other two and howling out the terrifying war cry 'PEANUT BUTTER!'

Towards the middle of the room, two lines of boys were clacking wooden swords together and dancing across the floor. They feinted and dove, whirling about each other, locked in their respective duels. Of course, since most of these boys were taking fencing lessons, the combat was more precise than normal play. This did not stop some of the kids to trip over their own feet, however, nor did it prevent accidental whacks to their comrades' stomachs.

Then there was the battlefield itself providing plenty of blankets, rugs, loose stones, and toys to feature as obstacles in the terrific conflict. A fencer slipped upon a rubber ball, sending the missile flying through the air and bouncing off the wall. One of the painting enthusiasts kicked over a pile of paper, using it as a distraction while he splashed paint upon his foe. Even Prince Harry himself, who really should know the dangers of his own room, managed to get his legs tangled up in the carpet.

Thomas reached down to grab Harry, Jr.'s hand, but Juan emerged from beneath the bed and renewed his attack with a shout. Thomas crouched and loaded his slingshot with a piece of candy from his back pocket, preparing to fire. He pulled back the band, closing one eye and sighting through the fork as his father had taught him. Nevertheless, just as he was readying to shoot, a pillow bashed against the side of his head and he landed on the floor with a grunt.

"Aha!" Landon, son of Prince Michael of Killrae, held his pillow above his head triumphantly. He turned his face to the ceiling, crowing, "I have defeated the dreaded Rid-!"

Abruptly, a stuffed aardvark hit Landon in the head.

Thomas turned over onto his stomach, grinning at Hernandez. "Thanks a lot!"

Hernandez, perched on a fallen armchair, tossed a zebra up into the air before deftly catching it. He laughed in answer and pitched the zebra at Landon, nailing him in the shoulder.

Thomas pushed himself up from the floor and, keeping his head low, ran towards a makeshift shelter of his erst-while bed. The cot had been flipped over, its light frame making it easy for the biggest boys to overturn it. Thomas ducked below the barricade, reloading his slingshot while listening to the yells and moans echoing about the room. A rather manic grin crossed his face and, without another second's hesitation, the prince leapt over the cot and sent his missile (this time it was a tiny lump of clay) towards one of the fencers.

The boy dropped his sword, clapping his hands over his backside and yelping. Eric, who was heir to the throne of Pharx, turned around to see who had attacked. His eyes narrowed.

Raising his sword in the air, Eric bellowed, "I'll avenge you, Leroy!" He stormed towards Thomas.

Thomas, aware that Eric was older and bigger than he was, fled in the opposite direction. He dropped into a dive and slid underneath the school desk, dodging the flying flecks of paint as he went. Then the boy hastily picked up a forgotten play sword and turned around to face the prince of Pharx.

Being of the ages of seven and nine, the boys did not bother to exchange witty remarks. Instead, Eric charged forward, swinging his weapon with all his might and hooting his battle cry. Thomas blocked the strike and then lightly skipped backward. He avoided another hit, weaving past Eric's play sword to bring his own down upon it. The wood clacked together—a peircing noise amid the cacophony of sound.

But then the prince of Pharx lifted his wrist and threw Thomas off, wresting the sword from his hand. Holding the two weapons, Eric grinned widely, declaring, "You know what this means, Tom."

"Yeah…" Thomas sighed and stood still as Eric stuck his finger into his mouth, removed it, and wiggled his wet digit in the other boy's ear.

Squirming, Thomas jerked away, protesting, "Okay—enough! You won!"

"Tom!" Harry, Jr. called from the other end of the room, where he was currently sitting on Juan to thwart him from escaping. "I need your help!"

"Gotta go." Thomas fetched his slingshot and hurried past Eric, slapping at his ear and groaning.

Harry, Jr. dodged another stuffed animal as Landon, who had by this point switched sides—not that they were keeping track anyway—continued to lob them from his hideout behind the bookcase. Thomas knocked aside the next fluffy pig, hissing to his friend, "What's up?"

"Try-," Harry, Jr. panted, pinning Juan's arms to the floor, "-to get Hubert and Hernandez to tie Landon up."

"But what about Eric and Leroy? _They're_ the ones who really want your room."

He shook his head, "Can't handle them now. Just go."

"Okay." Thomas followed his order and raced forward, scanning the room for the two brothers.

He spotted them hiding behind the cot and, darting by a paint-splattered Marcus (the youngest son of Baron Richard), Thomas joined them.

Hubert took a deep breath, muttering, "We're done for."

"No we're not!" Thomas retorted sharply. "Listen, Harry needs you guys to go get rid of Landon."

"Not with Eric and John trying to wet-willy us into surrender." Hernandez replied.

The crown prince of Corona rolled his eyes, "_I'll_ take care of them. You guys just go!"

"Right." The brothers did as instructed, jumping out from behind the cot to stop Landon from throwing stuffed animals.

Thomas closed his eyes, psyching himself up for what he would have to do. Then, reloading his slingshot, the boy sprinted around the barricade and began firing.

And so, the battle went on.

* * *

"Would you like some more tea, Princess Louisa?" Little Harriet asked the doll, holding up the kettle of her tea set.

The doll, of course, did not respond, but Little Harriet poured a liberal dose of tea anyway.

"Lil' Harriet, can I have more tea?" Helga waved her cup around, upset that the dolls and stuffed animals were being served before anyone else.

"Yep." Her sister marched over and also poured her a cup of 'tea' (which was actually water, for those of you who are curious).

Ginger, who had by now grown bored of playing dolls, propped her elbows up on the table, her chin in her hands. She blew her bangs moodily away from her forehead, gazing at the ceiling. She really did love playing with dolls. She really did love playing with her friends whom she almost never saw. But she was in Orae, there was snow outside on the ground, and she still had not gotten a chance to experience it quite yet.

"What's snow _really_ like?" Ginger asked absently.

Helga sniffed and took a sip of her tea, "What do you mean 'what's snow really like'? It's snow—what else is there?"

"Helga, she's never seen it before!" Little Harriet glared at her sister.

"Yes she has—she came in through the front gates, didn't she?"

"She was in the carriage!"

Ginger sighed as Little Harriet and Helga continued to bicker. At least when she and Thomas argued, there was always an interesting wrestling match. All Little Harriet and Helga ever did was yell at each other, with some hair-pulling to get the point across. Not a single half-nelson between them…

Fed up with the squabbling sisters, Ginger announced, "I'm going to see the snow tomorrow but I still want to know what it's like now."

Helga rolled her eyes, "Just stick your head out the window."

"I can do that?"

Little Harriet's face brightened, "Of course you can! I do it all the time—come on!" She raced over to the window, throwing back the flowery curtains.

Ginger hurried over, a broad smile crossing her face as Little Harriet began to flip open the latch. Behind them, Helga took another disdainful sip of her tea and wondered if she could spend the night in her other sister's room instead.

"You just have to-," Little Harriet grunted, pushing open the windows, "-stick your head out and look."

Ginger followed her directions, taking care to keep a tight hold on the windowsill. Then she inched forward and leaned out into the night.

Cold wind rushed past her, stirring her short hair and filling her ears with the sweeping music of the mountains. She could feel the ancient world around her, the great towering peaks that rose up to touch the black sky above. She even tasted the chill of the atmosphere, and, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she suddenly realized that snow was falling.

Little flakes spun and twirled through the air, catching the light of the keep's windows and sparkling brightly. They were tiny flecks of white, beautifully mesmerizing as they performed a graceful, delicate ballet on the breath of the north wind. Several of these fluttering drops of snow had already landed on her face, infinitesimal dots of cold melting upon her skin.

Ginger gasped and impulsively stuck one arm out to catch more of the snow. She beamed in awe, watching a small acculmulation pile onto her skin. The closest thing she could relate to the experience was having someone sprinkling sand upon her arm. But Ginger knew that was a poor comparison.

Sand had no magic—and snow did.

Little Harriet, who had by this point joined her, smiled up at the falling snow. "Do you like it?"

"It's the most wonderful—the most amazing…" Ginger could not find the words—or rather, lacked the vocabulary—to describe the snow. It just… was. And that was more than enough.

"Stick your tongue out and catch one!" Her friend encouraged, opening her own mouth wide.

"You can eat it?"

"It's just frozen water—of course you can eat it." Helga snorted from the table.

Little Harriet narrowed her eyes and turned around, snapping, "Be quiet, bossy! Ginger's never-."

Her next retort was lost on Ginger as she stuck out her tongue to catch the magical flakes. It was a thrilling experience, sending shivers up and down her spine. She wondered if her father had ever done _that_ before.

Just then, the door of their room opened and Annabelle walked in.

"Ginger, Mom told me to make sure that you brushed your teeth and-." She stopped, frowning at the two little girls sticking their heads out the window. "Ginger!"

"What?" Ginger turned around, sighing. Her older sister always seemed to get in the way just when things were getting exciting.

"Don't-," Annabelle quickly came over to the window, shutting it and securing the latch, "-do that. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Annie, we weren't going to fall out." Ginger said exasperatedly.

Her sister shook her head firmly, "Doesn't matter. You'll catch a cold if nothing worse happens and I've got to take care of you. Did you brush your teeth?"

"_Yes_."

"And get a bath?"

Ginger stepped away from the window, groaning, "_Yes_, Annie."

Annabelle nodded, "Good. Now, it's past midnight and you three need to go to sleep. And don't you dare think about looking out the window again."

"All right…" Ginger and Little Harriet muttered, glaring at Helga who continued to primly sip at her tea.

"I'll see you in the morning, Ginger. Goodnight." Annabelle gave her sister a half-hug and, after checking that the window was completely locked, exited the room.

"Sisters." Ginger murmured grumpily, climbing into the bed she was sharing with Little Harriet.

"No kidding." Her friend replied as Helga stood up to blow out the candles.

* * *

Eugene was sleeping quite peacefully when something hard suddenly struck him in the small of his back. He opened his eyes blearily, trying to figure out what had just hit him. Almost five seconds later, however, the same object thumped against his back again and he found himself falling. A moment later, he landed on the floor with a painful yelp.

His wife had kicked him off the bed.

Moaning, Eugene rolled over on the rug beside the bed, tenderly feeling his nose where it had scraped against the flagstones. There was some movement above him—blankets and sheets shifting against each other. Then a faint voice murmured his name.

Eugene, still preoccupied with his nose, did not respond.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel sat up in the bed, confused to find that her husband was no longer beside her. "Eugene?"

The prince consort sat up carefully, responding, "If you wanted the bed to yourself, all you had to do was ask."

"Eugene! Oh-," Rapunzel scooted over to him, trying to see him in the dark, "-I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

"The floors here are harder than the ones in Corona."

"You didn't—I didn't hurt you or-?" Rapunzel gently brushed back his hair, wincing as he let out another groan.

"No. I'm fine."

"Are you sure you don't-?"

Eugene shook his head, "I'm good, dear. Just a little bruised, but I'll live." He smiled up at her, muttering, "There's no way two of us can fit on that bed. I'll just stay down here."

His wife sighed, "Eugene, no, you'll be-."

"Kicked off again, probably." Eugene grinned, "Better me than you. But I seriously doubt we'll get much sleep tonight unless we do this. Can I have my pillow and a blanket?"

Rapunzel hesitated, and then did as he asked.

Eugene made himself a fairly suitable arrangement on the floor beside the bed. It would be colder—and he would definitely be feeling some soreness in the morning—but he was _not_ going to kick his wife off the bed. He moved around somewhat, trying to find a spot that did not have a pointy rock poking into his back.

Rapunzel, her eyes narrowed in concern, shook her head, "You don't have to do this."

"I'm doing it anyway." Her husband replied, pulling his blanket tighter around himself.

She lay back down, still watching him. "Will you be all right down there?"

"Yeah."

"By yourself?"

He grinned, "Well I'm not really _that_ much by myself. I've got you, don't I?"

"Yeah…" She continued to watch him get comfortable on the floor. Then she rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"And what about you? Are you going to be all right?"

There was a long silence.

"Rapunzel?"

Slowly, her arm dropped down from the bed.

Eugene reached up and took her hand, feeling her fingers wrapping tightly around his palm.

"You're not allowed to let go until tomorrow morning." Rapunzel said, her voice quiet.

Eugene smiled, "Okay. I'll try not to."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my love."

He kissed her hand and then lay back upon the floor, suddenly realizing that Pascal was still snoring in his pocket.

"Yep. Definitely not by myself." Eugene whispered as he felt his wife squeeze his hand.

* * *

Annabelle paused at the door to Prince Harry's bedroom, listening to the shouts and other loud noises coming from beyond it. It sounded as though a catastrophe were taking place in the chamber. And she was sure she could hear her brother's voice amid the other yells…

She sighed and shook her head, muttering, "There's no way _he_ brushed his teeth."

A sudden holler of 'I got Eric! I got Eric!' resounded from inside.

Annabelle rolled her eyes and continued back to Big Harriet's bedroom, deciding that she would let her parents sort that problem out in the morning.

She opened the door and stepped into the room, admiring the pink walls of Harriet's domain. She also had pink walls in her bedroom back home, but she did not have nearly as many lacy coverings. Nor did she have a tapestry with the royal crest (a goat head wearing a crown) spread against the far wall. The blue did not really compliment the pink, but Harriet felt duty-bound as eldest of the Oraen royal children to have the tapestry in her room.

The girl herself was on her bed, lying on her stomach and trying to finish up the puzzle she and Annabelle had been tackling for over an hour. Sighing, Harriet tossed another ill-fitting puzzle piece onto the floor.

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the bed canopy, asking, "Have Helga and Lil' Harriet started fighting yet?"

"Thankfully not. I told them all to go to bed, though." Annabelle took a seat on the guest bed as provided by the nannies of Orae. It squeaked slightly, but was otherwise quite comfortable.

"And your brother?"

"He'll get to bed eventually. But it sounds like there's a battle going on in Harry's room."

"Probably is." Harriet shook her head, muttering, "I don't even understand why Mom and Dad thought it would be a good idea to invite _everybody _except for Philip and his father."

"At least we have the room to ourselves." Annabelle pointed out.

Her friend nodded, replying glumly, "Yes, and Philip is still in the Bowl Forest and not here."

"I thought you didn't like Philip that much."

"I didn't. But then he became what my father persists in calling 'my suitor', and suddenly he was ten times more interesting. Did you know he can name at least a hundred different types of wood without blinking?"

"He _is_ the son of the Woodsman Duke."

"I know. A duke's son! I would've pegged me for a prince rather than a duke's son. But Philip is so strong and brave and… handsome…" Harriet smiled dreamily, trying to fit another piece into the puzzle.

Annabelle tilted her head in curiosity, "So your father doesn't care if you have a suitor at thirteen?"

"Are you kidding? Dad's the one who refuses to let us do anything together alone until I'm fifteen—and even then you can bet he'll have us with an armed escort."

"Is it really that serious?"

Harriet snorted, "No. Philip's just the only boy around my age that seems to have a brain. All the rest of them are obsessed with hunting and beating each other at some other stupid sport. Philip is an _artist_."

"Artist of what?"

"Wood, of course. Did you know he carved this for me?" She undid the necklace at her throat and showed it to Annabelle. It had a black leather cord, and was quite unadorned save the handsome wooden pendant. There were delicate carvings in the shield-shaped pendant, clearly done by a master hand.

Annabelle ran a finger over the work, murmuring, "It's very pretty."

Her friend beamed, "Isn't it? He framed the 'H' perfectly with little flowers. And on the back is the family crest. And the way he talks about things… honestly, I never thought hearing about a chunk of dead plant could be interesting but when he talks about lumber and trees—I'm mesmerized."

"Yeah…" Annabelle could relate to that. But it had always been about literature and stories—not wood.

Harriet grinned, adding, "And then of course he smells like wood, which is even better. Since he works in all the warehouses—supervising and following his father around—he ends up smelling like a different kind of wood every day. I like it best when he smells like cedar, though mahogany's not too bad. And maple is fairly interesting too. And don't even let me get started on redwood."

"Do you talk about anything but wood?" She asked suddenly, tearing her thoughts away from the librarian's assistant.

"What?" Harriet looked taken aback.

"I mean—there has to be more to him than just wood."

"Well, wood is a big part of who he is. But there is more." Harriet smiled, glancing to the side, "See, Annie, he can sing."

"Sing?"

"Like a bird—and his whistling's not too bad either. But he has the most wonderful voice. I like listening to him talk but when he sings… well, then I remembered why I'm being courted by a duke's son rather than a prince." She let out another sigh of contentment.

Annabelle smiled, "Well, I'm very happy for you, Harriet."

"Thank you. Now, what about you and that library boy who kept watching you pour over books?"

"Hmm?" Annabelle absently—or perhaps not so absently—grabbed her Pooh-bear for comfort.

Harriet rolled her eyes, "Oh, don't try to hide it, Annie. I know you like him."

She relented, "Okay, I do like him. But he's my best friend and you know how that goes. I've already told you about those complications. Not to mention the fact that he's only the librarian's assistant."

"Well if I can marry a man who talks about wood all day then you can marry a man who smells like book leather and glue and paper."

Annabelle smiled, "He does smell like that—it's from the binding process used on the books whenever he has to repair them and…" She stopped, suddenly realizing what her friend had just said. She turned to Harriet, frowning, "What do you mean 'marry'?"

Harriet shrugged, "That's what my father says all the time about me and Philip. He always moans loudly that his eldest daughter—his only responsible child—is going off to marry the woodsman duke's son and leaving him behind with no one to care for him in his old age."

"Mr. Harold is the same age as my dad."

"I know. But Dad always acts silly—_especially_ when Philip is around."

"Yeah… Dad's the same way with Stan. Though he doesn't really act silly it's more-," Annabelle looked up, making a face, "-more overprotective than anything."

"Really? What happened?" Harriet asked interestedly.

"Oh—nothing."

"Annie, you're squeezing that bear to death. What happened?"

Annabelle hastily relaxed her hold on her Pooh-bear, muttering, "Well… I was saying goodbye to Stan, you know, because I wouldn't be seeing him for three weeks. And Stan actually told me that he-," she smiled slightly, "-that he was kind-of upset I would be gone for so long. That I'd be up here with the older sons of all these kingdoms and so on."

Harriet smirked, "Ooo… _jealous_."

Annabelle shook her head, protesting, "No, not jealous. He's just-."

"Overprotective?"

Annabelle sighed, "I don't know. But anyway, there I was, giving him a goodbye hug and then Dad decides to barge in and ruin it. I was mad at him for the entire trip to Orae. But then we talked and everything's fine now but… he's never been that bad before."

"He's new at it. You're his first teenager." Her friend replied dismissively.

"I know. He said something like that."

Harriet laughed, "Well, that's way better than what my dad would've done. If my dad caught Philip hugging me then it'd be 'goodbye Philip'."

Annabelle shook her head, "That's because he's your _suitor_. Stan's just a friend."

"Just your best friend."

"Exactly. He's just my best friend, Harriet. He's not a suitor or anything else." She said, wanting to make the fact very clear.

"So you're not going to marry him?"

"What? I—I don't—_no_. I mean—I don't know whom I'm going to marry or if I even get married at all."

Harriet nodded thoughtfully, tossing another unwanted puzzle piece into the floor. "At least your parents don't have anybody arranged for you to marry like Claudia's parents have for her."

"What?"

"Claudia's dad signed a contract with this nobleman that she would marry his son. Claudia hasn't even seen the guy yet—she won't until the official betrothal period takes place and that won't be until she's seventeen."

"How horrible."

"Claudia's all right with it, though. I mean, I suppose since she's been told all her life she's going to marry this guy, she's used to the idea. I wouldn't be. I'd run away." Harriet vowed, smiling as she fitted a puzzle piece into place.

Annabelle pursed her lips, "Do most kingdoms have arranged marriages?"

Harriet nodded, "A lot of them do. Traditionally, they're not technically arranged until after the two prospects have met each other. But their parents are usually in contact years ahead of time so it's basically the same thing."

"How do you know this?"

"Mom told me. I asked her if she and Dad had anyone picked out for me almost as soon as I learned what an arranged marriage was."

"Did they?"

"They had been looking—but only to see who was eligible. They were going to let me choose whom I wanted, though." Harriet looked up, "Why do you ask? Have your parents expressed interest in that option?"

Annabelle frowned, admitting, "I—I don't know. I mean—Dad certainly would not have been Papa's first choice if Mom had grown up as a princess. But then the whole 'lost princess' episode took place and Dad won."

"Your parents have such a romantic story." Harriet sighed wistfully. "My parents just met at a ball somewhere. How boring is that?"

Annabelle, who had not heard this comment, continued distractedly, "They wouldn't really choose someone for me to marry. _They_ chose each other—they wouldn't make me to—Dad said they wouldn't… didn't he?"

"After all, what's more romantic than falling in love under a bunch of lanterns? Mom said she fell for Dad while at the punch bowl. I mean, the _punch bowl_? Really?"

"I mean, an arranged marriage might be convient but they would never… they wouldn't…"

Harriet shrugged, declaring, "But then again, my parents are so weird already I suppose that falling in love at the punch bowl was inevitable."

Annabelle was silent, still lost in this scary possibility. Harriet looked over at her, frowning.

"Are you okay, Annie?"

"What? Oh—yes. I'm fine, just a little tired."

"We probably should go to sleep like the 'responsible eldest children' we are. We can finish this puzzle some other time." Harriet shoved the puzzle off her bed and into the floor and then blew out the candle.

Snuggling deep down in her covers, the princess of Orae smiled, "Goodnight, Annie. I always like getting the chance to talk with you. You actually listen—unlike most of the other girls."

Annabelle pulled her Pooh-bear tighter to her chest, muttering, "Goodnight."


	22. Vacation at Orae 3

**Author Note**: :D Howdy! :D Wow it's been a while, hasn't it? :D sorry about the wait-writing comes slower during the summer, unfortunately... :D especially when you're writing about snow (by the way, did you know that there is almost no other word for snow EXCEPT snow? that really bugs me for some reason) :D haha so, anyway, I was at my cousin's wedding a few weeks ago and during the recessional (after he and his bride and all the wedding party had marched out) they played 'Kingdom Celebration' for the rest of the guests to exit the auditorium to :D my sister and I were like :D :D :D haha and we thought it was great :D anyhoo, I have no clue when I'll post something else on this and I'm sorry for the wait again (I really am sorry, I wish I wasn't so lazy) :) Thank you for waiting, reading, reviewing, faving, and still sticking with me after all this time! :D You guys are great! :D

P.S. It's weird doing a snow story during the summer... :P

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Eugene woke up with his eyes still closed. His back was sore and his arms and legs felt more than a little cramped. He was also shivering due to the floor being much, much colder than he had expected. There was a strong brightness against his eyelids, telling him that the early morning sun was shining through a crack in the curtains. And then he noticed something else—the smell of lavender, and the feel of another person beside him.

He opened his eyes to find that his wife had joined him on the floor.

She was still sleeping peacefully, her body rising and lowering ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale of breath. Her hair was rumpled from being pressed against her pillow, and she was laying right in the streak of sunlight so her short, dark brown locks shone faintly. She had her back to him, facing the sun, but the light did not wake her.

Eugene propped himself up on his elbow to study her. He could see the adorable curving bridge of her nose and the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks. There was a calming familiarity to her face, having been the first he had seen almost every morning for the past thirteen years. And there was also a prettiness he had never been able to explain. Even now, when she was asleep, the girl looked beautiful.

But the most amazing thing of all was that she was his. And she had come down off the bed to sleep beside him. She loved him that much.

Eugene bowed his head and kissed her cheek, whispering, "Good morning, my Rapunzel."

She shifted closer to his chest, murmuring drowsily, "Morning."

"So-," he slid his hand down her arm, "-what are you doing down here?"

Rapunzel sighed, "Your hand slipped out of mine during the night."

"I was just a foot away."

"That's too far."

He smiled and pulled her close in a secure embrace, enjoying the comforting feel of her warm body pressed against his. Rapunzel gently grasped his wrist, stroking her fingers across the back of his hand and knuckles.

"You have very nice hands." She said softly.

Eugene smirked, "Think they'll be any use in that snowball fight today?"

"If you use them right."

"I _did_ win the first one, you know." He reminded her, pressing his lips against her cheek again.

Rapunzel, still sounding half-asleep, mumbled, "You cheated."

"And won." He added.

His wife shook her head slightly, "Doesn't count if you cheated."

"Who says?"

"Her Royal Highness-," Rapunzel yawned the final phrase, "-Princess of Corona."

Eugene gave a small laugh, "Ah—her. And I can't disagree?"

"No, you could. You just won't get very far."

"Really?"

"Well-," she turned slightly to smile up at him, "-if you asked politely, you might get somewhere."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?" Her husband asked, his grin widening.

"I prefer strawberries."

Eugene kissed her lightly on the mouth in answer.

The royal couple then spent the next several minutes in a lazy silence, simply enjoying one another's company and the serenity of the morning. There was no work to be done, no meetings to attend, no taxes to count, no laws to sign. No servants that needed instructions. No guards to be reviewed. No children to bother with, at the moment.

But time passed by, as it always did, and eventually the princess and prince consort rose to prepare for the day.

* * *

Eugene trotted quietly down the hallway, passing by doors and hearing the sounds of around thirty aristocratic children snoring uproariously. Set high in the wall at the end of the corridor was a long, arched window. Through the frosted panes, a small amount of quiet sunshine streamed onto the carpeted flagstones below. Miniscule dust motes drifted in and out of the beams of morning, catching the light with each turn and tilt in the musty air.

Of course, Eugene always thought that the castle at Orae smelled musty. The snowy climate and howling drafts from the surrounding mountains did not allow for windows or doors to be opened for very long. In Corona, especially around the time of high summer when the sea breeze was at its strongest, the servants would open almost every window in the palace to catch the wind. The inside air seemed more breathable back home than in Orae.

"But, I suppose," Eugene muttered to himself as he stopped at Prince Harry's bedroom, "I might be slightly biased."

He looked at the door of the room, noting with satisfaction that it had not been broken down during the night's exploits. Then he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. The knob twisted easily in his hand, but when he put pressure against the door itself, it refused to budge.

"All right. Barricading the room, that's a new one." Eugene grunted, setting his shoulder against the door and shoving.

He could feel the door shifting slightly, and, with another two slams of his shoulder, he managed to squeeze his way into the room.

Eugene's jaw dropped open.

He had been expecting some kind of mess when he went to fetch Thomas. A little bit of blanket tearing here, perhaps a few broken objects, and some scattering of toys. But what he saw now resembleed nothing short of a combat zone.

The fifteen or so sons of Eugene's foreign counterparts were sprawled all over no-man's land. There were feathers and ripped pillows; there were torn quilts thrown over tables to make tents; there was a fallen bookcase, a stool missing two legs, and several stuffed animals that seemed to have been decapitated or otherwise maimed. Several forgotten toy swords lay dispersed across the part of the floor that did not have books or marbles upon it. There was also something like a wooden battle-ax shoved in the corner, and most of the curtains had been pulled off from their hooks. Gleaming sunrays bathed the room with the glory of day, but none of the boys seemed to have noticed its existence.

For, despite the travesty they had committed on the crown prince's bedroom, every single one of the contributors was asleep.

Eugene sidestepped a puddle of paint and glanced up at the ceiling. It was now multicolored. He could also see that the thing blocking the door was Prince Harry's school desk. How on earth the kids managed to cram it against the door, he would probably never find out.

Eugene scanned the small piles of boys, hoping to locate his son among them. He could see Harold's sons all sleeping peacefully in one of the beds, but Thomas was no where to be—ah…

Carefully and silently picking his way over books, toys, and children, the prince consort reached an overturned table. Thomas, wrapped in a bedsheet so that it seemed he was wearing a toga, snuggled deeper in the bed he had made out of the rug and a stuffed panda.

He did not seem injured, however, and that was a good sign.

Eugene bent down untangled Thomas from the sheet. That accomplished, he slid his arms underneath his son and straightened, flipping the sleeping boy over his shoulder. Then he began to gingerly make his way back towards the door.

Eugene could hear faint mumbles coming from Thomas, but it was not until he had reached the hallway did he realize what the boy was saying.

"I'll take ya with both arms tied behin' my back… an' my eyes closed…" Thomas murmured, pounding sleepily on his father's back.

"Hmmm?"

"An' I'll steal your frog… an' I'll beat ya to smithereens…"

"Sure you will, buddy." Eugene replied quietly, giving his son a friendly pat on the rump.

Thomas moaned, but did not wake up.

Eugene listened to the little snores next to his ear and smirked. The boy would be in a heap of trouble once Rapunzel found out about the state of Prince Harry's room. Matter of fact, he would not be surprised if all the ladies would be steaming in anger come lunchtime. That would probably mean that he, Harold, and every other father would retreat into either the billiards room or the sauna in self-defense. Strictly speaking, it was not _their_ fault the boys had trashed the bedchamber. It was just that the ladies tended to blame their husbands for the genetic propensity to destroy things and love of the sound of stuff going boom.

"Of course, it's not _our_ fault, Thomas. We're just made like that." Eugene murmured defensively, taking the stairs to the upper level.

Rapunzel had gone to collect their daughters, telling her husband to meet her back in their bedroom. There they would all get dressed and ready for a private, family snowball fight out on the grounds of the castle. Upon finishing, the intention was to eat breakfast, and most likely send Thomas back to help clean up Prince Harry's room. Some of the more damaged articles would have to come out of the combined pocket money of all the boys—including Harold's sons. But, given that most of them were crown princes or heirs to dukeships, that would not be too much of an issue.

He reached the door of his and his wife's bedroom, glancing around at the empty hallway. No one else was awake, it seemed. Strange…

Eugene turned the doorknob and entered, softly shutting the door behind him. He strode over to the bed and set his son down before taking a seat beside him. Then he began to speak.

"Tell you what, Thomas, it's going to be a long three weeks."

Thomas did not respond.

"I mean, granted, we'll have fun. More fun than we would have back home during this type of season."

The boy still did not answer, but instead chose to roll over onto his stomach, burying his face into the quilt.

"Of course, I suppose that depends on what your definition of fun really is. Is it fun to lounge around in the palace all day? Or is it more fun to build snow forts, shove ice down your best friend's shirt, and race around outside until your nose turns blue?"

Thomas still did not reply.

Eugene sighed and tapped his son on the back, "Wake up, Thomas."

He had to try a second time when no results came from the first. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."

"Mmm—bacon?" Thomas lifted his head and looked around blearily, a hopeful smile on his face.

His father raised his eyebrow, "Really? _That's_ what gets you up?"

"Dad, where—where's the bacon?" The boy now sounded rather disappointed.

"Breakfast isn't served until nine, Thomas."

"Oh yeah…" He glanced around in confusion, rising up onto his knees. "Why am I in your room?"

Eugene nodded to him, "You need to brush your teeth and get dressed for the snowball fight."

"Okay. Um, Dad, where's Mom?"

"She's fetching Annie and Ginger-snap right now. You might want to hurry up and get ready, though. Your sisters tend to take an extraordinarily long time in the bathroom."

"Right." Thomas scrambled off the bed and began making his way to the bathroom when he stopped and turned around. Eugene saw that he was gazing at himself in what could be called bewilderment. Then the prince looked up at his father, asking, "Why are my clothes on backwards?"

Eugene shrugged, "Beats me. Personally, I thought the fact that you were wrapped up in a sheet was more interesting."

"I was emperor of Auxuria." Thomas said distractedly. "I had to deal with a group of brigands threatening to take my kingdom and my many wives."

His father stood up, smirking, "I thought you didn't want to get married."

"I don't—I was trying to exchange them for my throne…" Thomas watched as he walked over to the wardrobe.

Eugene opened the doors, replying, "Well, either way, it's a good thing your mother thought of keeping your suitcase here. Who knows what would have happened if you were allowed to keep track of it. It would probably-," he hefted the luggage from its shelf and onto the floor, "-have been emptied out over the drill yard. Imagine what the soldiers would have thought upon seeing your unmentionables scattered across the snow."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "_Dad_."

Eugene grinned at him, "I'm only kidding, Thomas. But seriously, you do know how much trouble you're going to be in once your mother hears about Prince Harry's room, don't you?"

He set the suitcase on its side and knelt, flipping up the buckles. Thomas walked over to him, his arms behind his back.

"Does Mom have to hear about it?" The boy asked, presenting his father with the brightest, most wheedling smile he could achieve.

Eugene almost laughed at the expression on his son's face, recognizing it to be one he himself had worn many times before.

"I mean-," Thomas set a hand on his father's shoulder, "-let's be honest, Dad. There are a few things _you_ probably don't want Mom to hear about and there are a few things _I_ don't want Mom to hear about. So, in order to-."

He shook his head, "Nice try, Captain Rider, but you can't blackmail or bribe me into keeping mum to your mum. I love her too much."

"Aw, but Dad—_why_?"

"You'll understand once you've met your girl. It's a wonderful, and yet highly unfortunate event. It will change your lifestyle radically and make you do things you never thought you'd do in a million years." Eugene began to select warm clothes for his son.

"Really?"

"Well, that's how it was with your mom and me."

"Oh, _that's_ how it was?"

Eugene turned around so fast he nearly fell over. Rubbing his neck, he got to his feet and laughed awkwardly, "Sweetheart, when did you get here?"

Rapunzel smiled at him, "Soon enough. Tom, go brush your teeth and get dressed. Your sisters have to get in there as well."

"Yes ma'am." Thomas said automatically, snatching the clothes and his toothbrush from his father.

Annabelle and Ginger were sitting in the armchairs by the fire. Both girls clutched bundles of clothes and toiletry items in their arms. Yet, while the elder appeared rather sleepy, the younger was wide-awake and swinging her short legs enthusiastically as she sat in her chair. Ginger beamed at her parents, exclaiming, "We're going to go outside in the snow!"

Eugene grinned, "Sure are, Ginger-snap. Though we'll have to get ready first. Got your scarf?"

His daughter waved the shockingly pink scarf at him, "Yep. Lil' Harriet said she liked it."

"And did you two sleep well?"

Annabelle merely yawned as her sister nodded vigorously.

Rapunzel took a seat on the arm of Ginger's chair, looking up at her husband. "What about Tom? Did he get _any_ sleep last night with Felicia's three boys?"

"Well-," Eugene hissed uncertainly, "-about that… I think I kinda need a word with you."

His wife's expression immediately changed into one of suspicion and exasperation. Sighing, she asked, "What did he do _now_?"

"It wasn't only him. See, I think most of the other boys might have-," he glanced around absently, trying to think up the correct word, "-uh, _invaded_ Harry's bedroom."

"And?"

"They might've caused—erm—something similar to what happens when a tornado goes through a forest."

Rapunzel's eyes widened, "What?"

He shrugged casually, "See, I don't understand how they did it either. But I would hold off on punishing him until after breakfast."

It was, of course, at this particular moment that Thomas decided to march out of the bathroom singing loudly at the top of his lungs. His song choice was not necessarily one that his mother approved of, either, since it detailed the many violent ways of ending the nine lives of a cat. Eugene bet the boy had heard the ditty from his friends the night before. He himself had heard similar songs while living at the orphanage, and personally was not bothered by the lyrics.

Rapunzel, however, was fond of all living creatures, and that included cats.

"Tom, don't you ever let me hear you singing that again." She said warningly, causing the boy to freeze in his tracks.

"But Mom, Harry and-."

"Speaking of Harry," his mother crossed her arms, "you have some explaining to do, young man."

Eugene winced, "Rapunzel, I don't really think that-."

"Corner, now." Rapunzel pointed at the corner of the room and her son, groaning, plodded over to stand morosely by the wall. Rapunzel followed him. Soon, a whispered conversation began to take place.

Eugene looked at his daughters, "Annie, can you help Ginger-snap get ready?"

"Yes, Dad. Come on, Ginger."

Ginger jumped off from the chair, asking curiously, "What's happening to Tom?"

Annabelle shrugged, "He's in trouble."

"Again?"

"Shh, let's just get ready to go."

Meanwhile, Eugene had joined his wife and son by the corner. Thomas, talking very fast, was attempting to give an accurate portrayal of what had occurred the night previously. His descriptions contained a lot of 'ums' and 'kindas' and the occasional 'Harry said it was all right', but by the end even he knew he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

"But it wasn't entirely his fault." Eugene added, receiving a thankful look from his son.

Rapunzel nodded distractedly, "I know. I know it wasn't. And I really can't give appropriate punishment until I've seen the room. How bad was it?"

"Oh, not that bad-." Thomas tried to say, but was interrupted by his father, "Bad enough that he should probably spend the rest of the day cleaning it up."

His wife looked at him, "Are you sure?"

Eugene shrugged, "In a few hours, I'm sure that most of the other ladies would have heard what happened and their sons would be getting the same treatment. Let's just wait until we've eaten breakfast before going to survey the damage."

She nodded, "Okay. And since we have plans for the morning already I suppose we can wait a little bit. But-," Rapunzel turned and pointed a warning finger at her son, "-_you_ will be cleaning up that room. You will also apologize to Mr. Harold and Miss Felicia. And you will _not_ complain."

Thomas looked down at the floor, not speaking.

"_Thomas_." Eugene said sternly.

Their son nodded slowly, mumbling, "Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now-," Rapunzel crouched down next to her son and began undoing his jacket buttons, "-you've done your buttons up wrong, dear. Your jacket is lopsided."

"I _thought_ the collar was weird." Thomas muttered even as his mother adjusted his coat.

Upon finishing, Rapunzel then had the boy pull on his snow boots while her husband went to go check on the girls.

Eugene knocked on the bathroom door, "Are you guys ready?"

There was some suspicious giggling from inside the bathroom.

"Ginger-snap?"

Suddenly, the door opened and Ginger walked out, fully-dressed and ready to take on the snow. Almost as soon as she had exited, the door slammed shut. Ginger adjusted her scarf around her shoulders and gave her father a wide smile.

Eugene narrowed his eyes, "Why were you laughing?"

"I feel so fluffy!" She giggled, spinning around so that her jacket (which was, indeed, very much fur-lined) swirled about her. The little girl, having lived in a fairly warm sea city all her life, had never worn the warm, poofy furs that were so common in Orae. She was clearly pleased with the experience, and further demonstrated her pleasure by romping around the room in her new snow boots.

Eugene, aware of the guests below as well as beside them, quickly set a hand on her head to stop her from moving. Grinning, he said, "Whoa, dear. Don't want to wake the neighbors."

"O-oh." Ginger nodded, making a shushing noise.

"Right. Anyway, Ginger-snap, let me make sure you're all buttoned properly." He knelt next to his daughter and checked her coat buttons, murmuring, "Ready to experience your first snowball fight?"

Ginger smiled, "Yep. Can I be on your team, Daddy?"

"Well, I don't know. Depends on what your mom wants."

Rapunzel, pulling on her own coat, glanced over at her husband. "Tom can be on my team and you can take the girls. After all, dear, you're going to need all the help you can get." She smirked at him mischievously.

Eugene laughed, "_Oh_-_ho_? Is that so?"

"Yes, it is." His wife replied simply as she turned to her daughter. "Ginger, where's-?"

"Annie's not done yet." Ginger said, running over to Thomas. She flapped her scarf at him, chattering, "Tom, what are you going to do when we get outside?"

Thomas smiled evilly, "I'll shove you into the nearest snow pile."

"Not if I shove you first!" His sister retorted, swinging her scarf around.

"Gin' stop waving that stupid scarf at me!"

Rapunzel sighed and looked at her husband as their youngest began to grapple over the scarf. Eugene shrugged, "I'll wait for Annie. You go ahead and get those two monsters out before they wake the keep."

"Will do." Rapunzel turned to the two children, her face set in a frown. "That's enough, you two. If you can't learn to behave we won't go out at all."

Immediately, both Ginger and Thomas stood stock-still, trying to look innocent.

She nodded and took Ginger by the hand, "Let's go out. And be _quiet_."

"Yes ma'am."

Eugene watched, rather impressed, as his wife led their son and daughter out of the room and into the hallway. Then he began searching about the room for his snow boots, gradually lasping into a song he had heard years ago. It had a hymn-like quality to it, and his voice, low and quiet, lifted the words into the dark corners of the bedroom.

In the bathroom, Annabelle listened to her father's voice and took a deep breath. She would have to ask him about it. She had to ask him. If she did not—if she chickened out—well, she did not really want to think about _that_ possibility. And besides, Annabelle reasoned as she looked at her worried reflection in the mirror, her father had said she could talk to him whenever she needed. He would not mind.

She opened the door and saw him sitting on the floor, pulling his boots on and singing.

"Send the sun in time for dawn… let the birds all hail the morning-," Eugene grunted, pausing mid-song to tighten his boot buckles, "-love of life will urge me say… you are the new day…"

"Daddy?"

"Ginger-snap, I thought you had gone with-," he stopped, glancing up as his eldest walked over to stand beside him. Eugene raised his eyebrows, "Annie? That was you?"

She shrugged, "Yeah… that was me."

"You haven't called me 'Daddy' since you were five."

Annabelle smiled sheepishly, "I know. Sorry, just—can I talk to you?"

Eugene stared at her, spying the crinkle lines in her forehead. She was obviously upset about something. He coughed slightly and stood up, nodding, "Um, yeah, Annie. Yeah, go ahead."

"Well-," the girl glanced to the side, considering her words. "Harriet and I were talking last night and we kind-of got onto the subject of-." She stopped, apparently unsure whether or not to continue.

"Of… what?"

"Arranged marriage."

Eugene frowned, "What?"

"I know. I know it's a little weird-," Annabelle nervously stroked her hair, talking fast, "-but it's what we were talking about. See, Claudia's parents have an arranged marriage set up for her and she's fine with it. And Harriet had been talking about Phillip all night, so of course we talked about—um—some people we know and then Harriet told me about Claudia and then she said that she asked _her_ parents if she was going to get an arranged marriage. And they said that they didn't have one planned for her, which is great, but that made me wonder if you or Mom had possibly ever thought about it for me. I mean, I'd understand if you had, and according to Claudia they aren't bad. But _she's_ known all her life that she was marrying someone she had not met yet. I haven't. And I'm just wondering if you and Mom might actually be thinking about anarrangedmarriageforme?" Having gotten faster and faster as she went along, Annabelle managed to form the last five words of her question into one large word.

Now she gazed at her father, holding her breath and hoping he did not want her to explain anything else.

Eugene gazed back, trying to understand what his daughter had just told him. He was also trying to figure out where on earth the whole 'arranged marriage' concept had come from. First the girl was telling him she and the library kid were just friends, now she was asking about arranged marriages. What was next? Would she suddenly declare a deep-seated ambition to become a firework chemist?

He cleared his throat and nodded to the armchair, "Sit down, dear."

Annabelle sat, looking up at him through her brown eyes.

Eugene ran a hand through his hair and finally said, "All right, just ask me the last question again, and _slowly_."

"Have you and Mom ever considered arranged marriage for—for us?" Annabelle asked

"You and your brother and sister?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Well, no." Annabelle visibly relaxed, her overall demeanor no longer so tense. "Typically, in royal families, arranged marriages are expected. After all, the union of two families leads to a political alliance between two countries. Corona, though, I don't think has ever put much stock into that. From what your grandparents have said, their marriage was not arranged. And your mother and I _definitely_ didn't have an arranged marriage. So-," he looked at her seriously, "-what makes you think that we'd make you get one?"

Annabelle stammered, "I—I didn't. I was just worried—I mean—_wondering_ if you guys had ever considered-."

"Annie." Eugene placed his hands on her shoulders, kneeling before her. "Do you remember what we talked about just a few days ago?"

She nodded.

Eugene smiled, "Then don't worry so much. You're barely brushing adolescence, dear. And as far as I'm concerned, your marital status is a future issue, not a present one. You don't need to think about it right now."

"But Claudia's parents-."

"Hey, if Claudia's parents think that an arranged marriage is good for her then more power to them. But you, your sister, and your brother, are all free to choose whomever you want to marry by _yourselves_. However, since none of you are even at proper courting age, the matter can wait. You've got years, sweetie. All of you do."

Annabelle smiled slightly, "Thanks, Dad."

"You're quite welcome." He straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Now, how about we go win a snowball fight?"

"Mom's going to beat you." His daughter replied confidently, rising from the chair and handing him his jacket.

Eugene shrugged his coat on, grinning, "Now young lady, I won't allow that sort-of attitude on my team."

"I'm on your team?"

"Yeah. You and Ginger-snap and me against your mother and Thomas. I know your mom's talented but since she's got Thomas with her, I think our chances are good."

"Considering that Tom learned how to throw from you, I wouldn't be saying much." Annabelle remarked as her father fetched his gloves from his suitcase.

Eugene frowned, "I taught you how to throw too."

"Exactly."

He winced, pulling on his gloves, "Ah—right. Um, maybe you can make the snowballs while Ginger-snap and I throw them?"

She nodded, "That'd probably be the best idea."

"Yep. Oh, and before I forget-," Eugene started, opening the door. "Annie, don't take everything Big Harriet says for granted. She's the same age you are, and knows about life as much as you do."

"Yes sir."

"Great. Now, if you would be so kind?" Eugene held out his arm, wiggling his eyebrows at his daughter.

Annabelle laughed and took his arm, walking out of the room with him.

* * *

Todd the Oraen guardsman glanced up at the heavens. It was a beautiful morning, crisp and brilliant in every way. Pale blue at the edges where the horizon met white-capped peaks, and darker towards the center, the sky had a mysterious, vibrant life about it. Black shapes of birds dove and flew within the mountains' powerful air currents. Occasionally, one of the creatures would cry out into the silent morning, and the earth beneath seemed to rumble in reply. Even in the cold wilderness of winter, the world still breathed.

"Of course, that lot down there doesn't even realize what's above them." Todd said to himself, glancing over the parapet to the castle grounds below.

There was a small family currently conducting a rather enthusiastic snowball fight upon the snow-covered lawn of the royal garden. From the shouts and exclaimations of glee, Todd gathered that they were having a very good time of it. He grinned as the father rose up from behind his snow fort, only to get nailed in the head.

"Ah, you poor feller…" Todd muttered, smirking.

There was laughter from below, followed by a yelp as another snowball struck the father. Todd's smirk widened.

Suddenly, the other guardsman, Elliot, noticed that his partner was not walking the area he had been assigned. He hurried towards his comrade, hissing, "Todd, what are you doing? You're supposed to be patrolling the northern section of the wall."

He nodded, "I _was_ patrolling that part but then I got distracted."

"What do you mean you got distracted?"

An answer came by the sound of delighted giggling and a groan. Elliot turned his face to the garden, watching as one of the girls managed to knock her brother over with a well-aimed snowball.

Elliot frowned, "A snowball fight?"

Todd shrugged, "Yep. And all this time we thought Prince Harold's guests would be boring."

"Wow-," Elliot winced as the father received a snowball to the stomach, "-that lady has a good arm."

"I believe that's the lost princess, actually." His friend replied smugly.  
"Of Corona? No _way_… do you think we could get the chance to meet her?"

Todd grinned, "I hope so. Her story's one of the best ones I've ever heard. It's legendary, it is."

"You know what else is legendary?"

Both guards stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Slowly, they turned around to find their superior officer glaring at them.

Elliot nudged his fellow forward, and Todd stammered, "N-no, boss. What else is legendary?"

"The amount of stable-duty you two are going to do if you don't get your keisters back to work!" Captain Jacobson barked, his mustache quivering in anger. "Keep patrolling! Now!"

"Yes sir!" The soldiers saluted raptly, practically sprinting back to their posts.

"I swear-," Jacobson grunted, shaking his head, "-the sooner this Winter Conference is over, the sooner those men will start behaving like real soldiers again."

Just then, a fairly large snowball slammed into the captain's back.

* * *

Eugene laughed, glancing up at the cry of surprise from the ramparts. "You're throwing too high, dearest! You nearly knocked that guard off his perch!"

* * *

From behind their snow fort, Rapunzel looked over at her son. "Thomas, did you-?"

"I didn't _mean_ to hit him." The boy said guiltily. "I just threw a little too hard."

His mother smiled, "Sweetie, remember what I told you, you need to put more _aim_ into your throw—not power."

"Right." Thomas knelt to scoop up some more snow, murmuring, "Dad always told me to launch it."

"Yes, your father-," a missile flew overhead and landed several feet away from them, "-has always been a little too enthusiastic about throwing things."

"Really?"

"Well, that's what I keep telling myself, anyway." Rapunzel muttered, sneaking a glance around the fort before hastily withdrawing her head from firing range. "Ginger, on the other hand, has remarkable aim."

* * *

Eugene grinned at his daughter, "Good one, Ginger-snap."

Ginger, wiping snow off her shoulder, beamed. "Did I get Mommy?"

"No-," he shook his head, "-no. But you did manage to keep her down, and that's a feat."

Annabelle frowned over at their enemies' fort, "Dad, I think I can see Tom."

Her father looked up from where he had been gathering more snow for a missile, "Then pin him."

"You know I can't throw."

"Right—right. Okay, go on that side and I'll-." 'WHAM!'

A very strongly thrown snowball pounded into their fort and shaved off a section of snow right next to Eugene's head.

"No fair!" The prince consort shouted, stunned to find a pile of snow fort in his lap. "That one had ice in it!"

His son's voice echoed over the yard: "I didn't know!"

"_Sure_ you didn't. Just like you didn't know I was going to do _this_-," Eugene reared up, swinging his arm back, "-either!"

* * *

Thomas let out a gasp of shock before a snowball hit him in the chest and sent him toppling back onto the ground.

Sprawled on his back in the snow, Thomas glanced up at his mother with a dazed expression on his face. "Dad knocked me over."

Rapunzel could hear Eugene's laugh of victory, and she narrowed her eyes. "Did he now? Okay, Tom, let's call free-for-all."

The boy propped himself up on his elbows, frowning, "But I thought you didn't want to do that again?"

"It's the only way we'll actually get any good hits in—otherwise they'll just keep hiding behind their fort." Rapunzel replied, glancing up over the side at the non-descript mound of snow concealing her husband and daughters.

"All right, Mom, I trust you."

Rapunzel gazed at her son, hearing the sincerity in his voice and noting how he immediately got back into a crouched, ready position. His breath came out in little cloud puffs in the cold air, and his nose was red from the chill. But his brown eyes were glinting with a familiar mischief, and he seemed quite happy and willing to throw snowballs until the day ended.

His mother smiled slightly, "So you don't mind fighting against your father? I was worried you'd have trouble since usually its you boys against your sisters and me."

Thomas gave her a broad grin, "Are you kidding? I've hit Dad ten times already! This is _awesome_!"

"Aw, I love you, Tom." She impulsively pulled her son into a half-hug, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Thomas squirmed, moaning, "Hey—Mom—stop. We've got a game to win."

"Sorry, dear." She released him, grinning as he wiped at the side of his face. "Okay—ready?"

"Yeah."

Rapunzel waited a second, then another… and then lifted her voice and called out into the morning air: "FREE-FOR-ALL!"

* * *

Eugene's eyes widened, "She's seriously calling a _free-for-all_?"

Annabelle, already springing to her feet, shouted, "Hurry, Dad! We've got to get out before they do!"

"But Annie, we-."

"Now!" Annabelle said, running out to join her sister on no-man's land.

For a moment, Eugene hesitated. This proved to be detrimental because when he finally charged around to the other side of the fort, snowball in his hand, another snowball slapped into his shoulder.

In blind retaliation, he threw his missile in the general direction of the attack before dropping down onto all fours and scooping up another handful of snow. He packed the snow together, seeing out of the corner of his eye that his daughters were pelting their brother with snowballs.

"Zig-zag Tom! Zig-zag!"

Eugene molded the white powder into a ball, listening as his wife continued to shout instructions to their son. She sounded unusually close and—wait… if Rapunzel was _that_ near to him then that meant…

He straightened suddenly as freezing snow was shoved past both his jacket and shirt collars. Yelping, Eugene got to his feet and whirled around, smacking at the snow now in contact with his bare skin. Rapunzel smiled at him, already forming another snowball in her hands.

"Why-do-you-always-have-to-do-_that_?" Eugene asked through gritted teeth, still attempting to get snow out of his shirt.

"Tradition." Rapunzel replied simply, rearing back to throw another snowball.

Eugene dropped once more onto the ground, causing the snowball to fly harmlessly overhead before striking Annabelle in the side. He immediately rolled over, dodging another hit and catching up a handful of snow to fling at his wife. Rapunzel sidestepped the weak throw, allowing her husband to use the momentary ceasefire as a chance to get back onto his feet. Then she saw that he was holding a very large hunk of snow over his head.

Rapunzel narrowed her eyes, "You wouldn't."

He grinned, "Oh, yes I would."

Thus it was that the lost princess of Corona had a literal deluge of white dropped directly on top of her head.

In the meantime, Thomas had successfully achieved the 'higher ground' by clambering onto a rise in the garden. This rise was an overturned wheelbarrow covered in snow, and the prince balanced carefully on top of it as he threw snowballs at his sisters. Ginger, having landed on her backside for the fourth time from one of her brother's throws, growled and launched herself at him. She tackled the boy off the wheelbarrow, soon engaging him in a wrestling fight in a crumbling snowbank.

Annabelle cheered in encouragement, laughing as her sister quickly subdued Thomas into a kneeling half-nelson. The prince tried to wriggle free, but Ginger had been taught by their father how to keep the bigger opponent down, and he was not going anywhere.

Annabelle clapped her hands, cheering, "Good job, Ginger! Now for the snow."

"What?" Thomas's eyes widened upon seeing Annabelle approaching with a handful of snow. "Oh, come on-," he struggled helplessly, "-come on—that's _cold_!"

"So were those snowballs you hit us with." Annabelle replied unsympathetically, pulling back her brother's collar and dumping snow down his shirt in the exact same fashion her mother had done to her father.

Thomas yowled at the sensation, twisting out of Ginger's grasp and jumping up and down in agony. Both his sisters giggled at the sight, neither one of them noticing that Rapunzel (who had knocked Eugene down in revenge) had come up behind them.

There were two loud 'thwaps!' as well-aimed snowballs hit both girls in the back. They turned around to see their mother hastily gathering up more snow. Yelling out their vengance, Annabelle and Ginger stooped to make missiles of their own. Their brother, however, had other ideas as he raced towards them and showered them with an armful of snow.

Eugene, panting, jogged over to the place where his children and wife were exchanging shots. Ducking beneath a wayward snowball, the prince consort pleaded: "Free-for-all over!"

Almost as if the words were magic, the two sides instantly stopped throwing snowballs and began to sprint, post-haste, back to their respective forts.

* * *

Eugene was last to leave no-man's land. As his daughters proceeded to make more snowballs, he sat down behind the fort and took a deep breath. He was getting tired—and wet. But the feeling of chilly snow sliding down his back fired new a resolve in him. There was no chance he could let Rapunzel get away with that.

He glanced over the edge of the fort, seeing that both his wife and son had reassumed a barrage of snowballs at he and his daughters. He quickly shunted some snow into his hand, preparing to start a counterattack.

Ginger set a hand on his arm, "Daddy."

"Not now, Ginger-snap. I'm busy."

"But Daddy, I've got to go."

Eugene paused in his work, frowning at her, "You've got to _what_?"

Annabelle rolled her eyes, "You know, Dad, '_go'_—as in 'go to the bathroom'."

Ginger nodded her confirmation.

Their father gazed at both of them, hoping he could see a way out of the inevitable. He tried: "Can't you just wait a little bit longer?"

Ginger shook her head, "No."

"But… what if—what if I promise you can go in just five minutes?"

"Dad, I don't think that's going to work." Annabelle said, already looking towards the doors that led into the second keep.

Eugene sighed, "All right, I'll call a temporary break. But you guys hurry up. I need to get your mother back for chucking ice down my shirt."

"She did that again?"

"It's a favored tactic, apparently." Eugene muttered, standing up from behind the fort and raising his hands.

"Cease-fire! Stop throwing! We've got an emergency and-!" His words were cut off by a snowball clouting him painfully in the ear. Eugene groaned loudly, scraping the snow out of his ear and huffing at the cold.

"Argh! Who threw that?" He walked out into the open, glaring at the opposite fort.

Both Rapunzel and Thomas emerged from their barricade, the latter looking extremely guilty and also slightly pleased with himself—though he tried hard not to show it.

"Sorry, Tom didn't realize you were calling for a time-out." Rapunzel apologized, walking over to her husband. "What's the problem?"

"Ginger-snap needs to use the restroom." Eugene answered, still trying to dig snow out of his ear.

Rapunzel nodded, "That's understandable. We've been out here for at least two hours. Tom-," she turned to her son and nodded at where her daughters were already heading inside, "-you'd better go too."

He shook his head, "But I don't have to go."

"Just go, dear."

"Mom, I-."

She silenced him with a stern look. Grumbling, Thomas obeyed and trotted off to the doors of the keep.

* * *

Eugene pawed at his ear again, wincing, "He's gotten better at throwing."

"Well, teaching him how to aim properly tends to help." Rapunzel replied, reaching up to assist her husband. "Wow, he really got you good."

"Yep. But at least we were winning."

"No you weren't." She said absently, gently wiping away the last of the snow.

Eugene laughed slightly, "Oh _yes_, we were."

His wife arched an eyebrow in disbelief, "If that was winning I'd hate to see what losing would be like."

"I'll admit, that last free-for-all may have thrown us off balance. But for the _majority_ of the game, my team's been winning."

"According to you." Rapunzel said, walking over to a bench set amongst a cluster of snow-covered hedges.

In warmer months, the grounds of the castle would be significantly greener and sprinkled with flowers. The specific area the royal family had chosen for their snowball fight was, in fact, right next to what would have been a small garden during the summer. Now, however, all that remained was a neat square of leaf-less hedges with a frozen fountain set in the middle.

Eugene checked his reflection in the ice of the lower basin, seeing that his ear had grown rather red from being hit. He sighed and went over to join his wife on the bench. However, the prince consort immediately regretted the action, given that the bench itself was made of stone and felt like he had just sat upon a block of ice. Grimacing slightly, he glanced over at Rapunzel and noted that her jacket was long and thick enough to protect her from the chill.

"I think I need a thicker jacket." Eugene murmured, shifting somewhat in a vain effort to become more comfortable.

"Probably so. I can get you one when Felicia and I go out this afternoon."

"Thanks."

There was a slight break in conversation as Eugene slapped his arms together, hoping to get warmer.

Eventually, he said, "I really don't think you and Thomas were winning."

His wife looked at him, "Do you have proof to back up your claim?"

"Well—no… but I nailed you several times—and most of those were good hits."

"How's that snow feeling, dear?" Rapunzel asked, patting Eugene on the back and squishing whatever snow that had not melted against his skin.

He flinched uncomfortably, grunting, "Cold."

"Yep—Tom and I are totally winning." She declared smugly, adding an extra pat for good measure.

Eugene reached down behind his shirt collar, scrubbing at the snow and murmuring, "Hey, if I saw correctly, he was getting the same treatment at the hands of your daughters. And don't forget that really excellent throw I got in at the beginning of the game."

Rapunzel sighed, gingerly feeling her shoulder, "Don't worry about that. I remember that hit and, unfortunately, I think you might've left a welt."

He hissed, "Ooo—sorry about that."

"It's okay." His wife smiled at him, "I got you back in the long run."

"Yeah. Between sleeping on the floor and this snowball fight, I don't think I'll be able to move much tomorrow morning."

Rapunzel snorted, "I highly doubt that. You and Harold will probably come up with some great scheme to take your sons out sledding on that giant hill outside the castle."

"Speaking of which—I think Ginger-snap would enjoy a ride or two."

"As long as you promise to keep her from falling off the side of the mountain, you can take her."

Eugene snapped his fingers, adding, "_And_ we need to show them how to build a proper snowman."

His wife grinned fondly, "Remember that one we made when Mom and Dad had us come with them for that one conference?"

"Oh yes, 'Leaning Louie'." Eugene laughed. "You know, I don't think your father ever realized what happened to his scarf."

"Or that poor guard whose pipe and hat you stole. I told you not to do that." She pointed out, nudging him with her elbow.

He elbowed her as well, remarking, "You still gave it to Louie anyway."

"Well, of course. He was my first snowman." Rapunzel said matter-of-factly, elbowing him.

He returned the gesture, reminding, "And _you_ were the one who snitched the carrot and coal from the kitchen."

"I asked." She said defensively.

Eugene shook his head, retorting, "You asked a kid who had no authority in the kitchen given that he was a stable-hand's son."

"Well he was the first person I saw and I had no clue what an Oraen kitchen help would look like. I'd only ever seen Chef Arnold's staff in Corona. I didn't know there wouldn't be much of a difference."

"All right—all right. But you still insisted on dragging me out here the day before we left, just to build a snowman."

"Need I remind you that you promised to help me build one?" Rapunzel asked, giving him a winsome grin.

Her husband smirked, "And need I remind _you_ that you literally pulled me out of my warm bed to stumble, half-asleep, into the freezing-cold snow at six in the morning?"

"Somehow I can't remember you complaining that much."

"I know, but-," he shrugged, responding softly, "-you were excited. I couldn't ruin it for you by pouting about a few hours' lost sleep."

Rapunzel smiled, "You are an amazing man."

Eugene sighed and set his arm about her shoulders, murmuring, "Well, I don't like to brag, but—yeah, pretty much."

"And so modest too." She replied sarcastically, laughing.

"Always modest. In fact, sometimes I'm so modest it's hard to see if I'm being modest or not. It's a very complicated process."

Rapunzel laughed again and hugged her husband around his middle, thanking high Heaven for his warmth. It was, after all, a very cold morning.

* * *

"Ginger, are you almost done in there?" Annabelle asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Is she _seriously_ still in there?" Thomas exclaimed, walking up from where he had been using another restroom down the hall. "I've gone at least three times since she's been in there!"

"Yes, well, you're a boy, it's different." His sister said as she knocked again.

Thomas made a face, "Not really, Annie."

He pulled out his gloves and began slapping randomly at the wall of the small entrance corridor that ran along the first floor of the keep. Bits of snow and ice flew off with each contact his gloves made against the stone. One droplet of snow caught the light streaming in from the windows looking out onto the grounds.

Thomas sighed and trotted over, stomping on the small pile of ice and enjoying the crunching sound it made against the carpeted flagstones. Then he glanced out the window and let out a low moan.

"Are you kidding me?"

"What's wrong?" Annabelle asked, turning to see that her brother had his face pressed against the window.

"Mom's not throwing snowballs at Dad—she's hugging him!" Thomas griped, whacking his gloves against the window.

His sister shrugged, "Oh. Well be glad that's _all_ she's doing."

Thomas shook his head, crossing his arms and glaring at his parents. "I don't get it. I just don't get it. One minute, they're slinging snow at each other, and the next, they're acting all goofy and sappy."

"It's called 'being in love', Tom." Annabelle replied exasperatedly. "And anyway, none of us would be here if they weren't so I wouldn't complain too much. Ginger-," she knocked at the door again, "-are you almost done?"

In between her brother's muttered complaints, Annabelle managed to hear a muffled response through the door. Then she narrowed her eyes.

"I think—I think she's singing."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "It's _Gin'_, what else do you expect?"

She frowned, calling, "Ginger?"

The door suddenly opened and Ginger walked out, still singing a song Little Harriet had taught her. She beamed at her brother and sister, "Ready!"

"_Finally_!" Thomas said, already heading towards the front doors. "Now we can get back to the snowball fight."

Annabelle held up her hand, "Wait, Tom—Ginger needs her jacket buttoned."

He groaned and knocked his head against the wall in exaggerated annoyance. "Why me? _Why_? Why do I have to have-?"

"Stop moaning—you sound like Dad whenever Mom cooks fish." Annabelle retorted, quickly buttoning her sister's jacket.

"I tried to get the buttons but they didn't want to go into their holes." Ginger explained as she watched her sister finish securing the buttons.

"That's okay, you're done now. Tom-," Annabelle turned to her brother, "-what about your jacket?"

Her brother let out a snarl of frustration, "I'm fine, Annie! Now can we _please_ go outside?"

Annabelle stopped for a second, gazing out the windows at their parents huddled on the bench. A slow smile crossed her face. "Hang on—I've got an idea."

"Don't tell me _you've_ got to go too?" Thomas muttered.

"_No_, nothing like that. Anyway, you guys-," Annabelle whispered conspiratorily, "-listen closely to what I have to say."

* * *

"And then I said, 'Harold, there is no way you can eat all that cake'. And, believe it or not, he actually ate the _entire_ ten-layer cake before looking around for seconds!"

Rapunzel shook her head, "_Seconds_?"

Eugene shrugged, "Yah—I couldn't believe it either. And all on the night before his wedding—it was crazy."

"Okay, then what happened?"

Her husband continued casually, "Well, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, we decided to-."

There was an unexpected interruption in the form of the crown prince of Corona flinging the keep's doors open and howling to the sky: "PARENTS AGAINST KIDS!"

"Did he just-?" Eugene looked at his wife.

Rapunzel's green eyes widened rather impressively, "Oh no."

The prince consort got to his feet and moved in front of his wife, watching as their son proceeded to load his hands up with a snowball. Eugene cleared his throat as Thomas started to run towards them.

"Now, Thomas, you are not allowed to throw snowballs at your parents and-."

A snowball crashed into his chest, spraying cold powder all over. Then, almost a second or two later, another ball smacked Eugene in the leg. He turned to see his eldest stooping to gather more snow.

"Annie, why are you-?"

"Sorry Dad! It's too good of an opportunity to waste!" Annabelle stood up again, bringing her arm back.

"Yeah Daddy!" Ginger, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, punctuated her words by hurling a snowball at her father and hitting his side.

"Ginger-snap-," Eugene pleaded, trying to block an incoming missile from his son, "-Annie—Thomas, you'd _better_ not—oof!" He reached up and wiped snow from his eyes, groaning. "Well at least-," Eugene hastily stopped another snowball from his youngest, "-stop throwing them at your mother!"

"Only if she stops throwing them at us!" Thomas roared, scooping more snow into his hand and letting it fly to his father.

Eugene turned on the snowball, allowing it to collide with his back as he saw his wife kneeling in the snow. She was packing together a snowball, clearly intending to return the attack.

"_Rapunzel_!"

She looked up at him, protesting, "What? Eugene, it's parents against kids—get with the program!"

Another snowball, speeding in from his left, crashed against his thigh. Before he could do anything, however, Rapunzel stood up and threw a snowball at their son. Thomas grunted at the impact, but Ginger's next snowball came soaring through the frosty air. Squeaking slightly, Rapunzel ducked behind her husband and Eugene got yet another blow to his chest.

"Ha! We're _so_ going to win!" Thomas crowed as Annabelle prepared to toss another missile.

"Not if we win first!" His mother shouted, sending another snowball at him.

"We're not actually going to fight against our own kids?" Eugene asked as, tired of being hit by snowballs, he dropped to avoid his eldest's throw.

Rapunzel ducked another snowball, muttering, "You're either with me or against me, Eugene. Now come on—we need to get to the fort!"

The two adults retreated to one of the abandoned snow forts, their children firing a full bombardment after them.

Setting his back against the barricade, Eugene gasped, "Okay, dear, what's the plan?"

"I'm thinking-," Rapunzel snuck a peek around the fort to see the trio creating more snowballs, "-that we're just going to have to hold the fort as long as possible."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Come on, Eugene, _think_. We're their parents—just use scare tactics. But don't throw too hard. They are just kids."

"Yeah—just kids taking military studies." Eugene commented as a well-thrown snowball broke off a piece of their fort.

Rapunzel grimaced, "I shouldn't have taught Tom how to aim so well."

Her husband tried to repair the fort damage. "No kidding."

Beyond their shelter, they could hear Thomas yelling out taunts: "Come on, scaredy-cats! Come out and fight! Free-for-all!"

"Bring it, Tom!" Rapunzel shouted, sending a snowball over the fort.

Eugene grinned, calling threateningly, "_Yeah_! We're going to scrub the ground with your faces and-." He stopped a the stern expression on his wife's face, remedying lamely, "And—and have a tea party afterwards!"

* * *

Thomas glanced over at his older sister, frowning, "Did Dad just say tea party?"

"I think Mom glared at him." Annabelle responded, molding another snowball.

Ginger brightened, yelling happily: "A _tea party_? Really, Daddy?"

Her brother rolled his eyes, "He was just kidding, Gin'! Now throw more snowballs! We need to get them out of the fort!"

The three children continued their onslaught, slinging snowballs right, left, and center in an effort to force their parents out of hiding. They were quite good at the task, dodging the occasional retaliatory snowball and sending a dozen or so more in return. Eugene and Rapunzel tried to gain ground, tossing helplessly whilst getting pummeled in the process. Eventually it became clear that holding the fort was a losing battle, and both adults decided to ditch the attempt.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Eugene muttered, adding a snowball to the collection in his arms.

"Probably not—but sometimes plans work better when you're half-sure they'll end badly. Now-," Rapunzel turned to him, "-ready?"

"Yep."

"Charge!"

At her shout, Rapunzel and her husband leapt over what remained of their shelter and ran at their children, throwing snowballs as they went. Catching the kids off guard, they managed to get in several good shots before Thomas, Annabelle, and Ginger realized what was happening. Then, however, the free-for-all grew into a very inventive snowball fight.

Eugene ran along the outer edge of the small garden, racing his son to the end while exchanging snowballs with him the entire time. Upon reaching the opening where the hedges ended, Eugene skidded around the corner and easily swepted his son up and over his shoulder. Thomas hollered for reinforcements, pounding his last snowball onto his father's shoulders. Laughing, Eugene dove to his right and deposited the boy into a powdery snowdrift with a loud 'whump!' As he stood admiring his handiwork, however, the prince consort soon found himself caught in the crossfire of his wife and daughters.

Annabelle cast a snowball towards her mother, cringing as another whistled right past her ear. Rapunzel ducked the blow, but was unable to evade her youngest's throw to the leg. Ginger cheered delightedly and tossed her remaining snowball at her father who, distracted by Thomas bursting out of the snow to grab onto his ankle, received a shower of powder on his front. Eugene, half-blinded by snow and unstable, attempted to step back and found himself falling onto the ground. Then his son was climbing on top of him, laughing maniacally and piling snow upon his chest.

Rapunzel darted forward to assist her husband, but slipped on a slushy patch and was further hampered by another shot from Annabelle. Ginger looked up at her older sister, giggling.

She beamed, "This was a great idea, Annie!"

"Thanks." Annabelle grinned, laughing as her father managed to tip Thomas into the snowdrift again.

Rapunzel hoisted Eugene to his feet, panting: "We've got to get some cover."

"I thought-," Eugene sidestepped two lobs from his daughters, "-we had given up on that plan."

"This one's not working either." She grunted as another one of Ginger's snowballs struck her.

"Gotcha—split up and meet behind the gazebo?"

She nodded and, a second later, was bolting away at top speed. Eugene began to run off in the opposite direction, hearing shouts as his son took pursuit. He jogged around the side of the keep, his boots crunching upon the soft snow. A snowball hit him in the back, but he ignored it and instead continued to lead his son onward in a haphazard chase around the castle grounds. Taking a daring track to the left, Eugene dodged another snowball and vaulted himself over the low hedge of yet another garden. He then dropped onto all fours and army-crawled beneath a series of interconnecting shrubberies. There was a noticeable groan from behind him.

"Aw Dad! Where are you?"

"Gone." Eugene grunted, pulling himself through the snow.

Meanwhile, Rapunzel was having trouble eluding her daughters.

She entered the small grove of trees that ran along the inner wall of the castle, weaving in and out of the black pines. The two girls raced close behind her, sending snowballs at her from both sides. Occasionally they managed to corner her in a clearing, but somehow she easily slipped out of sight again. Then, as Rapunzel charged to the right, a snowball suddenly burst apart against the tree beside her. She ducked left, but another shot got her shoulder.

"Got you, Mom!" Annabelle shouted, following her mother's form as she turned in and out amongst the trees.

Suddenly, the girl was forced to dive to the side as Rapunzel delievered a parting shot. The snowball whizzed above her, clipping the underside of a tree branch and knocking a small pile of snow onto her head. Ginger laughed as her sister shook the snow off her shoulders.

"You look like a snow monster." The little girl giggled, pointing at her sister.

Annabelle looked around, frowning, "Ginger—where's Mom?"

"Mommy?"

"She's disappeared!" Annabelle exclaimed, breaking out into a slow run, scanning the forest. "How did she get away so fast?"

Ginger frowned and then, taking a deep breath, called: "MOMMY!"

Her sister smiled slightly and took Ginger by the hand. "She's not going to answer, Ginger. Come on, let's see if Tom's found Dad yet."

* * *

Rapunzel sat down beside the gazebo, gasping for breath and holding the stitch in her side. Why Eugene had chosen the one spot that was on the full opposite side of the grounds, she had no idea. But, she had to admit that the place had a good amount of privacy. Set out of the way and quite solitary upon what in summer months would be a span of grass, the gazebo seemed like a tiny haven on the snowy landscape. The kids would probably be unable to find them here—for a few minutes, at least.

She rested her back against the low wall of the structure, closing her eyes and inhaling the clear air. This snowball fight was turning into more than she had anticipated. Granted, it was fun, but it was also a lot of exercise this early in the morning. Maybe she should have stretched a bit beforehand…

Abruptly, a panting figure staggered around the corner and practically fell onto the ground beside her. Rapunzel smiled and laid a hand on his heaving chest.

"All right, dear?"

"That-," Eugene wheezed, "-kid."

"Yes?"

"That, little—crazy—spastic—kid. Can-," he puffed, pushing himself up into a sitting position, "-run faster—than anyone I-," he leaned against the wall beside her, "-know."

Rapunzel smirked, "He _is_ your son."

"Yours too, darling." Her husband responded, slapping some snow off his pants.

"How long do you think it will take for them to find us?"

Eugene sighed, "Not long. Thomas saw where I was headed—I think he went back to get the girls, though."

She frowned, "Why would he do that?"

"Typical military maneuver—get enough troops to make sure your quarry can't get away. He's going to storm the gazebo."

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged, sniffing, "It's what I would do."

"Okay, so how are we going to defend against it?" Rapunzel asked, looking as if she would rather not know.

Eugene shook his head, "We're not. I'm too tired to bother anymore."

"Face our defeat with dignity?"

He laughed wryly, "There's not much dignity in being beaten by your own children in a snowball fight."

"Well, at least they had fun." Rapunzel smiled cheerfully.

"Yep." Eugene felt his still-throbbing ear. "At least they had fun."

* * *

"They're hiding behind the gazebo." Thomas said, kneeling again to collect more snow.

Annabelle squinted at the small building. "Are they?"

He nodded, "I saw Dad running towards it."

"That doesn't mean they're still there."

"Yeah, Tom." Ginger said distractedly, tracing her gloved finger in a patch of unmessed white powder. She had already drawn a fairly good depiction of herself riding a unicorn and was now adding a rainbow in for kicks.

He rolled his eyes, "They're there, okay?"

His older sister pointed at him, "_You_ go ahead and see if Mom and Dad are there. I'm tired of getting hit by snowballs."

"Fine. Gin'?"

Ginger, immersed in crafting clouds from the snow, did not answer.

Thomas grinned, "Right then. I'll take 'em out myself."

So saying, the crown prince loaded his arm with snowballs and began running towards the gazbo, shouting battlecries as he went.

* * *

"Tom's coming." Eugene murmured.

Rapunzel nodded, "I know."

"He's going to drown us in snow."

"I know he is."

Eugene winced at the triumphant hoots coming from behind them.

"Any last words, dear?" He asked, knowing for certain that his son would be merciless.

"I've always loved you."

Eugene opened his eyes, surprised to hear his wife say that. And she had said it so firmly—so clearly—that he knew she was not kidding. He looked at her, muttering softly, "Always?"

Rapunzel shrugged, "Well, maybe not _always_. But if I ever did have to say my last words, and you were around to hear them, that would be it."

A smile appeared across his face, "I love you too, Rapunzel."

"Are those _your_ last words?"

He shook his head, "Well—my last words would be more of a last action—if you were around."

She smiled knowingly, "What kind of action?"

"Are you asking for a demonstration?"

"Sure."

Eugene grinned and took his wife's face in his hands, kissing her ardently. She leaned into him slightly, forcing him to fall backward onto the snow. Eugene laughed and continued to kiss Rapunzel, running his hands through her short-cropped hair.

Meanwhile, Thomas—the ever-intrepid conqueror—was rounding the gazebo, his arm upraised with a snowball clenched in one fist. Narrowing his eyes, he leapt behind the corner only to come upon his parents engaged in enthusiastic smooching.

He dropped his snowball and reeled back, moaning, "Oh, _come on_! In the middle of a snowball fight? _Really_?"

Eugene smirked as he and his wife glanced over at their traumatized son, replying, "You know, you didn't have to come over here."

"Argh—you guys are just impossible!" Thomas groaned, marching stolidly back, pulling at his hair in irritation.

His father called to him, "Hey, Thomas."

"What?" He asked, determinedly not turning around.

"We surrender."

"Whatever!"

Eugene laughed as he got to his feet. He extended a hand to his wife, asking, "So—breakfast?"

"After we get the kids into dry clothes." Rapunzel said, standing up and smiling as their son continued to complain in the background.

"Naturally."

Then, purely for his own enjoyment, Eugene dashed to his son, picked him up, and dropped him into another snowdrift.


	23. Dancing intermission

**Author Note**: So... I'm getting tired of writing about snow and decided to do an intermission :) sorry about that, and I will return to the mountains eventually :D but I thought I should let you guys know I'm not drowning in homework THAT much :D haha anyhoo, this is an idea I've had in mind for a long time... and it was slightly inspired by the talented 'andells' on Deviantart :D Check out her page and you'll figure it out :D she's captured the essence of the characters quite well in my personal opinion :D Thanks for waiting, reading, faving, and reviewing! :D you's guys are awesome :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story... oh yeah, and they own that movie with the slumbering princess... :)**  
**

* * *

Eugene leaned back in his chair, gazing around his office. He sighed, raising his hand to examine it in the squares of sunlight coming in from the windows behind him. It was a strong hand; one that was very much used to work and that had gotten him out of many difficulties. It was also his right hand—his writing hand—with which he had signed and scripted many pieces of law during his first five years as prince consort of Corona. But now it seemed to be failing him.

He let his hand drop and his eyes roved over to the papers on his desk. They were still there, waiting. Just like he was still in his office, waiting.

"Why on earth did she have to get sick _this_ week?" Eugene asked no one in particular, slumping forward and setting his elbows on his desk. Bowing his head, he slid his hands behind his neck and pulled down, hard, relieving some of the stress that had been on him since the week before.

Eugene took a deep breath, closing his eyes and allowing the serene silence of his office to fall over him.

Then, the creaking open of the door and a pair of light footsteps alerted him to a visitor.

The visitor quietly made her way to the other side of the desk. There she made her prescence known by setting a small hand upon her father's elbow.

"Daddy, where's Mommy?"

Eugene glanced over to see his five year-old daughter peering curiously at him. He sighed and sat back in his chair, responding, "Well, Annie, Mommy's not feeling well and she's seeing the court physcian. He's going to try to help her get better."

"Will it work?"

"It'd better or I'll be paying _him_ a house-call." Eugene vowed, turning around to pick his daughter up and sitting her on his knee.

Annabelle smiled at him, her long brown hair glinting in the sunshine. "You're silly." She announced simply.

"Ah-," Eugene grinned, correcting, "-I'm worried. I love your mother and I want her to be healthy. Just like I love you and want _you_ to be healthy." He cocked his head, "Come on. Open up and let's check on that tooth of yours."

Annabelle obeyed, opening her mouth wide for her father's inspection. Eugene gingerly touched one of her bottom front teeth, wiggling it slightly. He let out a low whistle, wiping his fingers on his pants, "Wow, Annie. You've got a wobbly toof right there. You want me to pull it out for you?"

She hastily closed her mouth, protesting, "_Nooo_."

"It'd be fast."

"No." She placed her hands firmly in front of her mouth, shaking her head.

"You sure? I know a really good way of getting it out."

"Howmh?" Annabelle asked, her hands still over her mouth.

Eugene grinned, "Oh, you know—tie a string to your tooth and then attach the other end to the back leg of a dog."

She stared at him, her brown eyes wide.

He nodded musingly, "It was a big dog. Rover—I think that's what his name was. Yanked my tooth right out of its socket."

There was an audible gulp from his daughter.

Eugene smiled, rubbing her comfortingly on the back. "But I'm not going to do that to you, Annie. You can let your tooth fall out on its own. The real question is-," he leaned closer to her, narrowing his eyes as he whispered, "Will the tooth fairy visit you?"

"Will she?" Annabelle asked, lowering her hands.

Her father shrugged, "Maybe. Depends on how much that pearly white of yours is worth."

"How much is it?"

"Hmm…" He considered the question, scratching his goatee thoughtfully. "I'd say all the gold in the kingdom."

She frowned, "I don't want that."

"You don't? Well then, what do you want?"

Annabelle thought for a moment, debating her options. Her father's smile grew wider as her face showed the strain of concentration. Finally she decided: "A new tooth."

Eugene laughed, pulling the little girl into a hug that soon turned into a tickle attack. Annabelle squirmed, giggling as she tried to get free. Eventually one of her small but surprisingly sharp elbows jabbed into her father's stomach.

"Oof—all right, all right." Grinning, Eugene stopped tickling his daughter. Then he turned to glance over at the paperwork on his desk and groaned.

Annabelle, realizing that her father had just lapsed into his gloominess of a few minutes ago, narrowed her eyes. "Are you going back to work?"

"I don't want to." He admitted, looking at her. "I don't really have much of a choice, though."

"Why?"

"Well, Annie, I'm responsible for helping run the country. And since your mother's not feeling well, I've got to do more work since she can't do it." Eugene gazed at his daughter, admiring the adorable pout now present on her face. He reached out a hand and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, sighing, "What I would give to spend the rest of the day with you..."

Annabelle leaned against his chest, asking, "What would we do?"

"Dance. All over the palace—just you and me." He set his cheek against the side of her head.

"Can we do that?"

"I've got work, sweetie."

She looked up at him through pleading brown eyes, "Daddy, please?"

Eugene raised an eyebrow, "_Please_? Using the polite approach, are we?"

"_Pl-e-ease_?"

"I don't know-," He made a clicking sound with his tongue, "-your papa might not appreciate it."

"He doesn't work all the time either." His daughter pointed out sensibly.

"Yeah, I know he doesn't. You and Mommy tend to distract him. You're both far too cute to withstand."

She beamed at him, dimples prominent and convincing.

"Okay, you've talked me into it." Without another look at the reports, Eugene rose to his feet and led his daughter out into the hallway.

This part of the palace lacked carpeting, and unlike the marbled hall below, these corridors had wooden flooring. Long panels of sunlight streamed in by way of windows lining the eastern walls. The sun-warmed hallway was empty due to the fact that the guards were patrolling elsewhere.

Eugene smiled down at the girl clutching his hand. Then he noticed her little bare feet poking out from beneath her dress. "Where are your shoes?"

Annabelle shrugged, "Left them."

"Right then—I need to take my boots off." He proceeded to do just that, setting his shoulder against the wall to keep balance. "Can't afford your tiny toes getting squished."

"No squishing."

"Exactly."

Barefoot and ready, Eugene took his daughter's hands and started to draw her into a simple pattern of steps.

Then, feeling that music was required, the prince consort lifted his voice and began to sing.

"La-da-de-dum… I know you—I walked with you once upon a dream." He twirled her. "I know you—the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."

Annabelle grinned, moving around in small circles with her father.  
"Yes, I know it's true—that visions are seldom all they seem…" Eugene gently raised her up and set her feet upon his own. "La-da-de-dum… da-da-da-de-dum… But if I know you, I know what you'll do… You'll love me at once—the way you did once, upon a dream…"

Humming softly, Eugene continued to dance with his daughter, feeling a weight fall from his shoulders at the pure joy on her face. Before too long, he had started to fill in intervening notes with sporadic—and yet, strangely appropriate—'de da las'. Annabelle chimed in occasionally, her soft voice mingling well with that of her father's. She had already started to learn how to play the piano via Hook-hand, and was improving masterfully each day. It was amazing how quickly she had absorbed the mysterious language of music.

Eugene renewed the song, "I know you—I walked with you-."

"Once upon a dream."

For a second, he was surprised. But then he smiled and joined her in the next verse. "I know you—the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam." Both father and daughter turned into a block of sunlight.

"Yes I know it's true—that visions are seldom all they seem…" Eugene swung Annabelle up into his arms, finishing the song in a harmony of delighted laughter. "But if I know you, I know what you'll do…" His voice quieted within the last few measures. "You'll love me at once—the way you did once, upon a dream…"

He heard a contented sigh coming from somewhere near the region of his shoulder as two small arms wrapped around his neck. Eugene continued to hum faintly, shifting his feet over the floor and listening to his daughter's accompanying mumbled words. He was fairly certain she had lulled into a particular kind of doze—probably on the flowing wings of music notes. Then, as he turned again, Eugene saw his wife walking towards him.

The prince consort stopped, trying to read whatever Rapunzel's face was telling him. Behind him and to his left, footsteps pounded up the stairs. A stern command announced the presence of the royal Head Librarian.

"Get a move on, Isaacs. We've got to collect that book from that literature-hog Reynolds."

"Yes sir!" There was a muffled thump.

"Don't trip on the stairs, boy! Time is of the essence."

The Head Librarian and his assistant, a skinny seven year-old named Stanley Isaacs, suddenly emerged out into the hallway. Both drew up short, startled to see the prince consort and his daughter.

Recovering quickly, the Head Librarian dropped a formal bow. "Good afternoon, your Highness."

"Afternoon." Eugene replied, noticing that the librarian's assistant was nearly staggering under the weight of a rather large book.

"Isaacs, bow to your-."

The boy dropped a bow, nearly toppled over in the process, and had just regained his balance when Eugene carefully set his daughter onto her feet.

Annabelle frowned, "But Daddy-."

He shook his head, "Not now, Annie. Just go play with your friend, okay? I'll be with you in a minute."

The Head Librarian frowned, "Sir?"

Eugene nodded over to where his wife was patiently waiting for him by his office door. The man raised his eyebrows, "We'll be in the library, sir."

"Thanks."

"Of course, sir."

The Head Librarian headed off in the direction of the royal tutors' offices.

Stanley, adjusting the book in his arms, said breathlessly, "Hello, Princess Annabelle."

Annabelle's eyes narrowed, and she protested indignantly: "It's Annie!" Then she sighed, murmuring, "Hi, Stan."

"Isaacs—get over here!"

Stanley wheeled around and began to run down the corridor. "Yes sir!"

Annabelle sprinted after him. "Come back! Daddy said I had to play with you!"

The prince consort, meanwhile, had reached his wife. Eugene set his hands on her shoulders, smiling nervously.

"So—what did the doctor say?"

Rapunzel shrugged, "He can't do anything about it."

Her husband's look of concern turned into a glare. "What? He can't—what kind-of doctor is he?"

"He's a very good one."

The prince consort shook his head, "No he's not! If he can't cure a stomach flu then why on earth are we-?"

"Eugene."

"It's not like it's hard, right?" He asked, rolling his eyes. "I mean, maybe it _is_, but that's what he trains for and-."

"Dear." Rapunzel set a hand on his chest.

"If that guy doesn't buck up and start making you feel better I'm going to-."

"_Eugene_."

He broke off from his tirade. "What?"

She smiled at him.

Eugene felt his heart drop and then rapidly surge upward into his throat. He recognized that look. He had seen that look only once before in his life, but he knew he would never forget it. After all, it was an important look. It was a look that meant things were starting to take place.

Amazing things.

Swallowing, Eugene whispered, "Really?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"You're actually—I mean you really—we're going to-?"

His wife tilted her head to the side, "How do you feel about being a father again?"

Eugene's grin broadened into an infectious smile. He suddenly spun his wife upward, hands about her waist, laughing jubilantly as happiness untold flooded into his chest. Rapunzel slid her arms around his neck, smiling at the extraordinary warmth in her husband's eyes.

He stopped twirling and allowed her to rest against him as he held her.

"Another one." Eugene declared, feeling like he could fly.

"Yes."

His smile faded, and he said unexpectedly, "I hope it's another girl."

"How come?" She frowned.

"Because I already know how to deal with little girls."

Rapunzel laughed, "I'm sure you can learn."

"Maybe." He grinned at the expression on her face. "I love you, Rapunzel."

"I love you too, Eugene."

She kissed her husband then, and it seemed as if the whole world was singing.


	24. Vacation at Orae 4

**Author Note**: Long note today... :D so, to get some externalities out the way just because I want to-have any of you guys seen that new show on ABC called 'Once Upon A Time'? :D it's a lot of fun (warning, may not be appropriate for younger viewers, however). Just wanted to know if you had :) anyways... exam week is coming up so this should be the last thing I post for a good long while... Christmas break might free up some time though :D Oh, and for those of you who make videos, there is a song mentioned in this shot that my sister and I think would be PERFECT for Eugene and Rapunzel (if any of you are up to the challenge, it's called 'I'm beginning to see the light' as sung by Michael Buble) :D tell me if you make one, I'd love to see it! :D anyway, thank you guys for being so patient and awesome :D thanks also for faving, reviewing, and even reading the story :D I'm happy you've stayed with me this far! :D I should probably warn you, however, that when I write I go in for the long haul... it'll be some time before I reach the end of this story (in terms of the overall arc of the characters). Hope you'll enjoy it! :D

P.S. God is amazing, is He not? :D Just think about it sometimes-I know I don't think about it enough-but God had blessed me greatly above all I could ever think or ask :)

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Bailey—Bailey, get the bacon!" Ginger continued to dangle the strip of bacon just above the violently quivering nose of one of Harry's St. Bernard puppies.

The rest of Bailey's brothers and sisters gamboled and rolled around across the hearthrug, their mother watching in calm attentiveness. She sat next to her master's chair, occasionally receiving a secreted piece of bacon and a friendly pat on the head.

"Harold, stop feeding that dog all your bacon! Really, dear, you would think you were Harry's age." The princess of Orae sniffed, frowning at her husband.

Harold shrugged, "I _was_ Harry's age once, Felicia love. Old habits die hard."

She sighed, "Sometimes I wonder if you ever grew up."

Harold grinned at her, responding cheekily, "And sometimes I wonder if you really want me to."

Eugene glanced over at his wife, smirking slightly. Rapunzel merely rolled her eyes, but he was almost certain he had seen a smile cross her lips the second before.

After cleaning up from the snowball fight out on the grounds, the royal family of Corona had come downstairs to the dinning room to partake in an early breakfast. Harold and his wife and children were already seated at the table when Eugene and Rapunzel arrived with their own kids. It was still fairly early in the morning, so aside from the two families and a few representatives of Auxuria, no one else had come downstairs yet.

Eugene cast his gaze up at the streams of sunlight filtering in through the frost-covered windows, smiling as the voices of his children intermingled with those of Harold's kids and the barking of the dogs. It really was a comfortable feeling, sitting in a warm room and eating a delcious breakfast, enjoying the morning with those he loved most in the world. However, as this feeling of happiness spread through him, he felt it abate some when he saw his eldest daughter talking with Harriet.

Eugene still remembered Annabelle's discussion with him earlier that morning, and it bothered him. Then, what was worst, he could not think of another thing to say on the matter. The idea itself eluded him, and he feared that the next question that came to him would be something completely out of his range. Therefore, he did what every father does when he cannot understand his daughter.

"Rapunzel, can I ask you something?"

His wife turned away from where Felicia was now thoroughly scolding her husband for having given his dog another piece of bacon. "What's the matter, dear?"

"Well-," Eugene tried to ignore Harold's loud complaints about the welfare of his 'dear tiny Charlotte', "-just—your daughter-."

Rapunzel raised her eyebrow, "_My_ daughter?"

"_Our_ daughter." He corrected with a slight smile. "See, Rapunzel, Annie's just been—well, she's kind-of been asking about—she just has—um, you need to talk to her."

"About what?"

"Relationships and—and what exactly is expected of her at this age. And it has to come from you because, to be comepletely honest, I'm running out of stuff to say. Besides, you can relate to her more than I can about some things."

She nodded, her green eyes considering, "All right."

"And if she mentions anything I've already told her, and I was wrong, then just go ahead and fix that issue." Eugene said quickly.

"Okay."

"And you might want to do it-."

"Eugene, do _you_ want to talk to her?" Rapunzel asked pointedly.

"Um—no." He gave her a sheepish grin and pretended to be interested in his hashbrowns. "No, you can do it, Rapunzel."

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_." Eugene muttered under his breath, noting the oddly proud smirk on his wife's face.

Felicia, having given up on trying to convince her husband to forego the indulgence of his dog, sighed in exasperation. She turned to the princess of Corona, asking, "Rapunzel, you didn't tell me if you and Eugene slept well in the other room last night?"

"We slept… okay." Rapunzel replied, trying to ignore the sudden, pained moaning of her husband.

Felicia shrugged, "Well, the royal wallpaperists finished earlier than expected so you can move into your usual room after lunch. I'm warned that there might be a lingering smell of glue, but that it won't be too bad. It's entirely up to you, of course."

Eugene leaned across his wife, cutting in with an enthusiastic: "We'd be _delighted_ to take you up on that offer, Felicia. After all-," he dodged his wife's attempts to push him back, "-can't let those wallpaper artists' work go to waste!"

"You might change your mind once you've seen the color of wallpaper, Fitzherbert." Harold remarked, grinning.

Felicia rolled her eyes, "Just because _you_ don't like it doesn't mean Eugene will-."

"What color is it?" Eugene interrupted, not liking the look on the prince of Orae's face.

"Pink." She answered dismissively.

"How pink?"

"Shockingly pink." Harold responded.

His wife glared at him, "_Harold_."

"Well it _is_, Felicia. You can't call it anything but 'shocking'."

"One of the puppies is chewing on the leg of your chair, dear."

"What?" Harold looked down to see the littlest puppy avidly gnawing the carved mahogany. "Porthos, no!"

"I guess I can sleep in a pink room." Eugene muttered under his breath, grinning slightly as Harold frowned sternly at Porthos.

"Shockingly pink?" Rapunzel asked in amusement.

"Don't remind me and maybe I'll forget about it."

Meanwhile, as these discussions were going on, Ginger, Little Harriet, and Helga were stroking the fur of Beauty (who liked to be petted) and Bailey (who did not like to be petted but was far too small to do anything about it).

"I'd really like a puppy." Ginger sighed, patting Beauty admiringly on her little warm head. "But Daddy says they make him sneeze."

"Your dad hasn't sneezed once since he's come up here though." Helga pointed out.

Little Harriet, a wriggling Bailey in her arms, brightened, "Maybe _our_ puppies don't make him sneeze?"

Her sister shrugged, "Maybe. But it's too hot in Corona for a St. Bernard."

"Mmm…" Ginger hugged Beauty to her, rubbing her cheek upon the dog's soft fur. "They just feel so nice!"

At that moment, the crown prince of Corona walked over, examining his empty plate. His eyes narrowing, Thomas demanded, "Gin', did you feed that dog the last of my bacon?"

"Nope."

"Then what happened to it?"

"Harry snuck it off your plate." Little Harriet said absently, releasing Bailey only to scoop him up again into her arms. The small dog started wimpering.

"Lil' Harriet, let him go." Her sister ordered, wincing at Bailey's high-pitched whines.

Thomas looked at Little Harriet, "Harry stole my bacon?"

"Yep."

His eyes narrowed as he muttered dangerously, "This means _war_…"

"Don't you even think about it." All four looked up to see Annabelle and Harriet coming over to join them. Annabelle frowned sternly at her brother, "You already got into enough trouble today. Do you really want to make Mom mad again?"

"It wasn't just _my_ fault, Annie." Thomas protested, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, Harry helped too." Little Harriet said in agreement.

"And so did Hernadez and Hubert." Helga added, nodding.

His sister sighed, "Even if it wasn't just your fault, Tom, you should still try to avoid getting into more trouble."

"Whatever." His forehead wrinkled in thought, and he lowered his voice. "Think I can steal some of Dad's bacon?"

Annabelle shook her head dismissively, "No, I don't."

"Well, I'm going to try anyway."

"It's not going to work, Tom."

"Watch me." Thomas bent double and began creeping his way back to the table.

"Younger brothers are such a pain." Harriet decided, noticing her own brothers were currently engaged in an argument about a wayward biscuit.

Annabelle nodded, agreeing, "They are a pain."

Helga pulled a rope toy around for one of the puppies to chase. As the little dog started chewing enthusiastically on the knotted end, she asked suddenly: "Why do boys do such stupid things?"

"Who knows?" Little Harriet murmured, finally releasing Bailey.

Ginger shrugged, "My mom asks Daddy that all the time."

"And he never answers." Annabelle added.

Up at the table, Rapunzel and Felicia finished planning a trip to the city below as well as discussing the travesty of Harry Jr.'s room. The princess of Orae, after talking over an appropriate punishment, had paused to end the quarrel going on between her sons. Then she raptly ordered them all up to their room the moment they finished eating. Ignoring the groans, Felicia turned back to Rapunzel.

"I think we should hit Rosemary's first—and then do a bit of window-shopping in the lower district. And you have to see this store in town, the interior in itself is gorgeous."

She then turned to her husband. "Harold, I'll need your purse."

Harold frowned, "Felicia, dear, do you really-?"

"Yes. And the carriage. And don't even _think_ about sneaking off to play billiards with your buddies—you've still got a deskload of paperwork waiting for you." She rose from her chair and kissed her husband on the cheek, "Have a good day, dear. Get stuff done."

Harold watched as his wife left to go get their eldest daughter. He poked moodily at his food, muttering grumpily, "I thought I was on vacation."

"Lucky for me, _I_ actually am." Eugene smirked, glancing over as his wife set her hand on his arm.

"I'm going to get Annie ready to leave, all right? Can you handle the other two on your own?"

"I'll be fine, dear. I know how to deal with those kids."

Rapunzel snorted in disbelief, "Just don't get into too much trouble. I'll be back sometime around late afternoon—we'll be eating lunch in the city."

"Keep warm." Eugene smiled.

"I will."

"Take care of Annie."

"I will." Rapunzel squeezed his shoulder and then departed.

Harold glanced over at his counterpart. "Fitzherbert, how do you convince your wife to-?"

"I don't."

"But-."

Eugene shook his head, "It's a lost cause, Harold. Just accept the defeat with dignity and move on."

"Is that what _you_ do?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

The prince consort grinned, "Nope. But Rapunzel's just as stubborn as I am so we tend to come into a non-compromise deadlock that smoothes things out."

Eugene then realized that a small hand was inching its way towards his plate. "Wait a second here—Thomas?"

"Oh." Thomas froze in mid-theft, a quick grin crossing his face.

His father crossed his arms, demanding, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Uh… nothing?"

"Why are you touching my bacon?"

"Just-," his brown eyes shifted from the right to the left as he devised an excuse, "-counting it."

Eugene gave a short laugh, "Yeah right. Don't think I didn't know you were coming over here."

"But Dad, I'm just-."

"Are you done eating?"

Thomas sighed grudgingly, "Yes."

His father nodded, "Good. You can go and start helping Harry clean his room."

Harold suddenly recognized what Eugene was saying. He cleared his throat, "Oh—right. Harry, Hernandez and Hubert—go straighten that room up."

"Dad, it was really mostly Harry's-."

His mild gaze turned into a glare, "Now, or I'll fetch your mother."

"Yes sir!" The three boys chorused, breaking out into a sprint down the hallway.

"Hey! Wait for me!" Thomas called after them, also charging out the door.

A moment later there was a faint crashing noise as if something fragile had just been knocked off its perch.

Eugene winced, "That sounded like that vase your wife likes so much."

Harold shook his head, moaning, "It was…"

* * *

The sun had risen higher in the sky by the time Eugene and his youngest daughter began hiking up the slopes outside the castle walls. Or rather, Eugene was the one hiking. Ginger was riding him piggyback with her arms clasped about his neck and a wide grin on her face. The prince consort also had to deal with pulling a rather heavy sled along with him. He had the leash clutched tightly in one fist, but the sled moved slowly through the deep snow and often caught on hidden rocks.

Giving another grunt and tremendous tug, Eugene yanked the sled out of its newest rut and continued uphill. Thankfully, the climb was not too steep, and his boots had good traction. It was also very cold, and the heat from the exercise combined with his daughter's small body against his back kept him comfortably warm. He let out a faint huff of exertion, asking, "You all right, Ginger-snap?"

She nodded, "Yep."

"Great." Eugene jerked the sled leash again. "Now just a little bit more walking and we'll reach the top-," he grunted again, "-in no time."

Ginger listened to her father's familiar breathing, feeling the wind rushing through her hair and the expanse of world about her. Aside from herself, her father, and the distant form of the castle, it really felt like there was nothing else but giant mountains and empty, blue heavens. It was a magnificent sensation—one that had an eternal, living quality. It caused her heart to sing with a boundless joy at the absolute _bigness_ of it all.

She glanced behind her, seeing the trail of her father's footprints and the sled's stuttering tracks. They were the only blots marring the pure white landscape, looking quite lonely against the rest of the undisturbed snow.

But Ginger did not feel lonely despite the solitude of the surrounding land. After all, she had her father and the whistling wind as companions, and they were enough.

A sudden thought struck her, and she leaned forward to speak into her father's ear. "Daddy?"

"Yes dear?"

"How big is the world?"

Eugene frowned. Leave it to Ginger to ask him a nearly-impossible-to-answer question while he was trying to haul a recalcitrant sled uphill. He took a deep breath, gave another wrench of the leash, and tried his best to answer.

"Well, Ginger-snap, I suspect it's rather large. If you want exact measurements you can ask Jerome the Head Astronomer when we get back home."

"Does he know?"

Eugene pursed his lips, "Hopefully. But why do _you_ want to know?"

"I just wondered if we could see it when we get to the top." Ginger said, absently tapping a light rhythym on his shoulder.

"'_It'_? What's 'it'?"

She shrugged, answering simply: "The world."

The prince consort managed to keep himself from laughing—she had answered so seriously. He did, however, consider his response before replying: "Ginger-snap, I don't expect we'll be able to see the _entire_ world. I don't think anyone on this earth can see the whole world all at once."

"Has anyone tried?"

He opened his mouth, frowned, and said, "I don't know."

"Can we try when we get to the top?"

Eugene grinned, "Sure thing, Ginger-snap. And then we can sled down."

His daughter abruptly seized his jacket, whispering timidly: "Is it scary?"

"Not if you close your eyes."

"Oh." She thought for a moment before asking, "Daddy, are you going to close _your_ eyes?"

"No, I'm not."

"Good."

Eugene laughed and continued his progression up the hill, the chill air making his eyes tear up slightly. He finally reached the summit and, after dropping the leash onto the snow, carefully set his daughter back onto the ground. Ginger sunk up to her knees in the deep snow, but she was still beaming happily at her father as he straightened.

"Snow too deep for you?" Eugene asked, smiling fondly.

"A little bit…" She glanced down at her booted feet—now fully submerged in white powder. "It's pretty though."

"Like it?" He asked, turning around to check the sled.

"Mm-hm."

Ginger waded through the snow, gazing out at the surrounding terrain. Unexpectedly, she grabbed her father's sleeve, "Daddy!"

Eugene, busy with the sled, frowned, "What? Snow monsters trying to-?"

"Look at it all!"

"Ginger-snap, I'm kind-of-." Eugene looked up and his words died in his throat.

His daughter was standing at the edge of the summit, staring out at the great vastness about them. Behind them and curving in on the left were the mountains of Orae—giant, rising peaks of dark stone. In front of their hill lay the grey blocks of the royal castle, and at the foot of the castle was the city itself. The town was a sparkling mass of snow-covered rooftops, all glinting in the brightness of the morning sun. Pillars of smoke could be seen rising up from the chimneys of homes and kitchen fires, disappearing into the blueness of the sky. Then, beyond lay the outer gulf that stretched from this cliff face down into the Valley of the Giants. For a second, Eugene felt like he was staring into infinity itself—the scene seemed so endless in its scope.

Then he was brought back to earth as his daughter slipped her tiny hand into his, resting the side of her head against his arm. "You _can_ see everything." Ginger breathed, a dreamy smile crossing her face.

Eugene grinned, "So this is what everything looks like?"

She nodded simply.

"All right." He smiled and then turned back to the sled. "Now let's get going down that hill Ginger-snap, or we'll run out of time."

"Time to do what?" She plodded along with him, watching as he released her hand to crouch down in the snow.

"Slide down it again." Eugene answered, straightening the sled and setting it carefully on the very brink of the hill.

The prince consort had ridden sleds before—many, many times. He had grown up in the highland country of Corona, where snow was common in the darkest winter months. Granted, the sleds used at the orphanage had been makeshift and probably more dangerous than jumping off a cliff, but that had been half the fun. After all, how much more thrilling was it to barrel down a hill knowing there was greater than a fifty percent chance possibility of your 'sled' crumbling from underneath you?

Thankfully, however, the sleds as provided by the royal family of Orae had slightly better records in terms of staying intact. If if were not the case—then this would be a remarkably exciting trip for which his wife would probably scold him later that day.

Eugene sat down the back end of the sled, using his weight to keep the sled from tipping over the edge. Then he lifted his daughter up and onto the space in front of him, securely wrapping his arms about her. He shifted slightly in his seat, making certain that there was nothing trailing from the sled (he had already removed the leash by this point).

While her father was adjusting, Ginger had gotten a fairly good look down the nose of the sled and to the slope waiting for them. It was impressively slick, smoothed out underneath a clean, fresh layer of snow. It was also really high up.

"Um… Daddy?"

"Yep?"

"Are we going to make it?"

Eugene shrugged optimistically, "Hopefully."

"_Daddy_?" Ginger turned around, gazing at him through the large, green eyes she had inherited from her mother.

Her father grinned, "I'm kidding. Just hold on tight, Ginger-snap. I'll make sure you reach the bottom safe and sound."

The little girl obliged him and fastened her small, mittened hands over his arms. She had quite a grip, leaving Eugene to wonder if he would later find finger-marks impressed in his skin. However, that was a paltry worry, for now was the time for action.

Now, was the time to sled down the hill.

Eugene leaned forward, feeling his daughter's grasp tightening over his arms. Then, very steadily, he moved forward another inch.

The weight difference was too much, and the sled plunged down the slope at a surprising pace.

Immediately, her eyes scrunched up tight, Ginger let out an ear-splitting shriek of half terror, half undeniable excitement. To feel the cold, freezing-cold wind rushing past you—to feel the ground slipping onward beneath you at break-neck speed—was ecstasy unlike any she had ever experienced. This was better than tasting snow—this was flying—literal _flying_! Slowly, she opened her eyes to watch as the world whipped past in blurs of grey and white.

Eugene let out a whoop of delight, turning the sled over so a little to the left in order to catch a slight escalation on the hill. The sled swept upward a few feet above the ground before bumping back onto the snow and sending white powder everywhere. The prince consort grinned, shaking snow from his hair as he turned onto another rise. They caught it terrifically, soaring along a full six feet before striking snow again.

"All right, Ginger-snap?" Eugene hollered, leaning the sled to the left.

"Eeeeeeeaaaayaaaaa!"

Well, at least she _sounded_ happy.

They continued downhill, sweeping by the landscape on what seemed to be the wings of Nike. It was amazing how fast they were going.

Then, abruptly, the world started to slow as the prince consort turned the sled into a soft curve left. Then, even more abruptly, the world stopped moving altogether as their sled came to rest—startling still—at the bottom of the slope.

Eugene fell back onto the snow, laughing as he waited for his heart rate to go down. He had not had that much fun on a sled in years.

Another sound hit his ears, and he discovered that his daughter was giggling. He opened his eyes to find Ginger sprawled on the ground beside him, beaming at him.

Eugene reached over and gently brushed some snowflakes from her hair, asking, "And how was that?"

"Can we go again?"

He laughed, propping himself up on his elbows, "Yeah. Yeah, we can go again."

"Yay!" She sprang onto her feet and began charging up the hill.

Eugene stood, watching the little girl's progress. He knew she would tire out halfway up, but that was all right. He could always carry her.

* * *

"The worst part about Christmas is figuring out what to get your father. It's becoming just like his birthdays—it's getting harder and harder to buy him something every year."

Annabelle glanced at her mother, seeing the frown on her face as she gazed at the shop window. "I thought you liked picking out presents for Dad?"

Rapunzel smiled, adjusting the shopping bags in her hand. "I do like it, but I wish he wasn't so difficult to buy for." She shook her head and turned away from the window—it was a fragrance shop—to scan the stores opposite. "Butcher, baker, candlestick maker… I don't think he'd want anything from there…"

Her daughter followed her mother's gaze, seeing the many snow-covered stores of Orae. In honor of the upcoming holiday, most of the stores either had shimmering garlands hanging in the windows, wreaths on the doors, or at the very least a multitude of red and green ribbons. The lampposts marking the streets glowed brightly in the overcast afternoon, and the pure whiteness of the snow seemed to make everything glitter. There was an exciting scent to the world—a combination of the warm smells from the tavern next door and the spice of fir branches decorating the store they had just left. To cap the whole feeling, Annabelle could still taste cinnamon from the hot chocolate she and her mother had shared earlier that day.

Rapunzel, clearly disappointed with the products offered her, turned to another road. "Come on, Annie. Let's try the next street over."

Annabelle and Rapunzel, complete with the products of their afternoon shopping, walked through a small passageway between a warehouse and public stables. They emerged out into one of the bustling marketplaces of the capital of Orae.

The continued along, passing a shopboy as he trotted by with a large, wrapped package in his arms. He had to sidestep rather fast to get out of the way of a chattering family as they finished the last of their Christmas shopping. The shopboy disappeared into a back alley, and Annabelle switched her attention to the open door of a nearby church. Christmas songs could be heard, along with the loud groaning of a pipe organ, as the choir practiced for the morning service later that week. The girl found herself humming along with the familiar tunes, and she smiled as the director started fussing that his choir was out of sync with the organ player.

Then a sudden, merry jingle of sleighbells alerted Annabelle to a coach rolling past. She watched as the vehicle coasted to a stop before an inn, the horses nodding and pawing the snow while their breath misted in the cold air. A young man, who had been lounging in the shade of a doorframe, quickly walked over to the coach and opened its door. He grinned, extending a hand to the lady inside and murmuring compliments as she stepped delicately out.

Annabelle gazed at the couple as they strolled, arm-in-arm, into the inn.

"Aw… that's really sweet."

Annabelle nearly jumped at her mother's voice. She had not noticed that she was watching the couple with her.

Rapunzel nodded to the inn, remarking softly, "I wonder if he's her beau…"

"Maybe."

Rapunzel glanced down at her daughter, seeing just the barest hint—absolute barest hint—of longing. Eugene was right. She did have to talk to her. But she would have to do it carefully.

"Annie, how about we go look over at the bookshop? Maybe I can get your father a new almanac for Christmas."

Annabelle frowned, "Doesn't Papa get him one?"

Rapunzel smiled, nodding, "He gets him the _Corona_ almanac. Your father's never had one from Orae before."

"Okay."

The two princesses of Corona crossed the street and went over to the bookshop. Both Annabelle and her mother adored bookstores, and soon they were wandering through the shelves contentedly perusing the books. Annabelle breathed in the familiar smell of paper, cloth, glue and leather, rapidly experiencing a wave of homesickness. The library at Orae was nice, but with all the guests and families visiting, it lacked the solitude of the one back at the palace. The bookshop in town, however, was rather quiet, and she almost expected to turn the corner and run into the librarian's apprentice.

Annabelle paused in withdrawing a book, her thoughts on the red-haired youth she had left in Corona. She wondered how he was doing. She hoped he was well. She hoped he was happy and healthy. Though, knowing him, Stanley probably had a cold from staying in the library too late with the fire unlit. At least his mother was there to take care of him—but that was only on the weekends when he visited her. Honestly, the boy would be sneezing his nose off by now…

"Dear?"

Annabelle turned to see her mother coming up the aisle.

Rapunzel sighed, "Apparently they've run out of almanacs… do you have any idea what else I could get him?"

Her daughter paused, trying to think through the thoughts of the librarian's assistant crowding around her brain. She had trouble, however, since all that kept coming back to mind was that hug her father had so unhelpfully interrupted. But, at last, something concrete rose through the emotions and she suggested: "What about a pocket watch?"

Rapunzel shook her head, "No, he has a pocket watch already, remember?"

"He lost it."

Her mother's eyes widened, "What? When?"

"About a month ago I think…" Annabelle replied, frowning.

"But that was the one we got him!" Rapunzel exclaimed unhappily. "The first birthday he had after you were born…"

"Mom, I was barely even ten months old." She pointed out.

Rapunzel nodded distractedly, "I know you were but—why didn't he tell me?"

Annabelle shrugged, "He's probably still trying to find it."

"And to think that pocket watch was the one you drooled on…" Her mother sighed sadly as her daughter withdrew a book from the shelf.

The girl groaned, "_Mom_."

"It was the only way I could tell you liked it. I can remember your dad laughing at the teeth marks."

"Can we talk about something else now? _Please_?"

"All right, I'll stop getting nostalgic. But at least now I know what I can get him." She smiled at her daughter, "And you can help me pick it out."

* * *

The watchmaker's shop was a neat, brightly lit building set on a corner of the main marketplace in Orae. Unlike the bookstore, the place was teeming with shoppers—most of them ladies—bustling around the various displays and inquiring after orders at the counter. Apparently, the watchmaker did more than just pocket watches. There were arrays of fine jewelry, velvet boxes of pearl necklaces and earrings, and bracelets sparkling against silk sheets in the shop window.

Annabelle and her mother were at the back of the store examining the many pocket watches. A harried-looking attendant rushed past the table, muttering something about a misplaced form, while Rapunzel tapped a finger against the glass case.

"That one looks nice. What do you think, Annie?"

Her daughter looked down at the watch. It was a handsome piece of jewelry—gold, with a long chain and perfectly circular body. The watch face seemed to be crafted of mother-of-pearl, and it included a small compass along with the usual numbers and watch hands. Simple, but dignified, the watch was nearly an exact replica of the one her father had lost. There was, however, an exception.

"There's no design on it."

"Hmm?"

"Dad's last watch had the sun crest on it. This is blank."

"Well, we _did_ get that one in Corona. But we could always ask them to make an engraving." Rapunzel glanced at her, "What would you like to put on it?"

Annabelle shrugged, "I don't know… what does Dad like?"

"Food, vacations, his family." Her mother smiled. "It's interesting how his priorities have changed over the years."

"We could ask them to carve his name on it or something."

"Hmm… a message. That's an idea." Rapunzel murmured, looking behind her at the crowded shop. It would take at least thirty minutes to get any attention from the workers. There really was no point in waiting that long.

"Tell you what-," she said, turning to her daughter, "-how about we come back for this later? We'll probably get better service that way and besides-," Rapunzel gave her a knowing smile, "-you still haven't gotten Stan anything."

Annabelle frowned, "How did-?"

Her mother shrugged, proceeding towards the front of the store. "I heard you talking to Harriet before she and her mother went off to Rosemary's Botique. Have you decided what you want to get him yet?"

"Um—not really."

"Why not?"

"Well, I-," Annabelle dodged a loud group of girls 'oooing' over the engagement rings by the door, "-I hadn't decided if I actually wanted to get him anything."

Rapunzel held the door open for her, "You don't want to get him something?"

Her eyes widened, and she protested, "No—no, I do! I just—I don't know what he would say…"

"'Thank you', probably."

Annabelle shook her head, "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

She did not reply, clearly bewildered by her mother's response.

Rapunzel cleared her throat, replying firmly: "What you meant, is that you like this guy, but you don't know how to show it because you still just want to be friends with him, but you might change your mind in the future?"

Annabelle stared at her.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Annie?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

Her mother smiled at her.

"I mean-," Annabelle sighed, "-I do like him. I do. I can't say that I don't. But it's just—liking him seems to get in the way. Kind-of."

Rapunzel nodded, "How does it get in the way?"

Her daughter took a deep breath, answering, "It's like you said—I _like_ him, but I just want to be friends with him right now. But I still like him. But I also don't want to shut him down completely because, when I get older I—um… well, I—I might-."

"You might want to 'be more than friends'?" Rapunzel asked knowingly.

"Yes ma'am." She mumbled.

"That _is_ a problem." Rapunzel decided, stopping before the shop windows of a gentleman's clothing store. "But what I suggest is that, first of all, you just like him. You don't think about it, and you don't fight it. You just like him."

As her daughter thought about what she had just said, Rapunzel began to examine some of the cheaper wares the storekeeper was selling out on the street. She lifted the sleeve of a coat, studying the stitching with keen eyes.

Annabelle shook her head, asking suddenly, "But _how_? How do I 'just like him'?"

Her mother continued looking through the rack of suit coats, responding, "Enjoy being a girl and having a crush on a guy. Enjoy the 'warm fuzzies' you get every time he smiles at you. Enjoy the experience of getting to know him better." Rapunzel looked at her, adding, "And don't overthink it, dear. Relationships can be complicated, but they don't have to be."

"They don't?" Annabelle asked, surprised by this revelation.

Rapunzel smiled, explaining gently, "No, they don't. Annie, just because Stan's your best friend, doesn't mean you can't think he's cute or attractive. After all, your father is my best friend—aside from Pascal—but he's also my husband."

She frowned, pointing out, "You're married, though. It's different."

"Yes, it _is_ different. But remember that I wasn't always married to him."

Annabelle glanced at her mother, her forehead crinkled in confusion.

Rapunzel tilted her head as she considered the price tags on one of the suits. "There were times—usually in weeks where our separate schedules kept us from seeing each other—when I wondered if I really understood what I was doing. When I didn't know if I could actually love a man and enjoy beating him at chess at the same time."

Her daughter grinned, laughing slightly.

"I know. It's silly now, looking back at it. But when you're young and confused, and the emotions you are experiencing are still so new and uncertain, the idea of any kind of relationship becomes complicated. That is why you need to make sure it doesn't become complicated."

"So how do you do that?" Annabelle asked, following her mother as she started down the sidewalk again.

Rapunzel held out her hands, answering, "Don't think of it as something you have to take care of all by yourself _all_ the time. Any kind of relationship involves more than one person, and it takes mutual effort. And really, you already have a foundation—you're best friends with the boy. Add on to it slowly as you get older and, if Stan is interested, he'll do the same. You'll be surprised at what you both can do. Sometimes, you'll even do it without saying a word."

Annabelle nodded, "He's good at that."

"Good at what?"

"Being quiet—but still talking."

"And do you listen?" Rapunzel asked, already knowing the answer.

"It's hard not to."

Rapunzel put her arm around her shoulders, hugging her as she murmured, "Good. That's how it should be."

Annabelle smiled, "Thanks Mom. You make a lot more sense than Dad does."

"I know. But really, that's only because your father's afraid of saying something he might regret."

"Like what?"

Rapunzel smirked, "Like actually admitting that you're old enough to start thinking about this stuff. But he's getting there. And in the meantime, you can always talk to me."

"Who did you talk to about Dad?"

"Your grandmother. And Pascal, of course."

"Right."

Rapunzel said thoughtfully, "I don't think I told Pascal _everything_, though. He's a bit of a blabbermouth."

Unable to help herself, Annabelle asked, "Who's he going to tell—other chameleons?"

"_Now_ you sound like your father." Rapunzel smiled, glancing at her daughter.

"Sorry Mom."

She laughed, "It's okay, dear. I don't mind."

Annabelle sighed, shaking her head. "I still don't know what to get Stan for Christmas though."

"Well, what does he need?"

She shrugged, "New glasses. Or at least a way to keep them from getting broken."

"Does he have a eyeglass case?" Rapunzel asked, frowning.

"I don't think so." Annabelle replied slowly, thinking back to all the times she had seen Stanley fiddle with his spectacles.

Her mother indicated the street in front of them, "There's a leather goods store not far from here. How about we go pay them a visit?"

Annabelle grinned and nodded, "All right."

They both continued walking down the lane, talking happily as, somewhere behind them, church bells rang out the hour.

* * *

That night the princess of Corona was writing at the desk in her and her husband's bedroom at Orae. It was fairly quiet—and with only the two candles and the fireplace lit—you really did not notice the explosive pinkness of the wallpaper. The only sounds were small snores coming from the chameleon somewhere under the bed covers and the wind howling outside.

Rapunzel sighed and set down this quill, absently scratching her chin. Already dressed in her pajamas, she had all the appearance of one intending to retire for bed. However, the sprawl of papers across the desk, the leather-bound ledgers, and the firm line of concentration across her brow indicated a long night of work ahead of her.

After a moment's consideration, Rapunzel turned another page in one of the ledgers. She sighed, tapping the paper irritably as she read the information. The shipping from Dean was down again—apparently the sheep were not happy enough. She would have to write to her cousin Chester about the issue. Or maybe his wife. _Yes_, better to write his wife instead and have her nag him about it.

She smiled, muttering softly, "Sorry Chester. It's your own fault though… and if that doesn't work I can always write your mother."

Abruptly, the door to the bedroom opened and Eugene walked in singing. He was dancing slightly as sang, and, spotting his wife, waltzed towards her as he picked up another verse.

"Oh, I never cared much for moonlit skies—I never winked back at fireflies—but now that the stars are in your eyes—I'm beginning to see the light!" He finished with a little twisting prance, evidently pleased with his own performance, and caught sight of himself in the dresser mirror. Grinning, he went over to wiggle his eyebrows at his reflection.

"Hello, Eugene." Rapunzel said, not looking up from her work.

"Good evening my beautiful Rapunzel." He replied happily.

"Did you check on the boys?"

Eugene nodded, clapping his hands and turning around to lean against the dresser. "Yep. They've done their work well. Room's cleaned—broken belongings either fixed or in need of replacement—but otherwise the prince of Orae's bedroom is quite back to normal."

"Good." She replied, unfolding a piece of paper.  
Eugene raised his eyebrows questioningly. Then a slow smile crossed his face and he quickly made his way over to her.

"Whatcha doing?" He asked, setting his chin on her shoulder and slowly swaying back and forth—the chair was a swivel chair.

"Work. Felicia mentioned something today at dinner and I remembered I had a report I needed to get to…" Rapunzel frowned and attempted to add another note to the edge of the page. This action was made difficult by her husband's continuous turning of the chair.

Eugene shook his head, "Why on earth are you working? The conference isn't until next week—_after_ Christmas."

"I know, I know. I just wanted to finish this up. Besides-," she flipped the page of her ledger, "-the more I get done now, the less I'll have to do later."

"But the more you get done now, the less time you'll have to help me finish my song."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "I don't even know that song. Where did you hear it?"

"A little café… in chilly Orae… covered in snow… under mistletoe… that's where I'd like to gooo…" Eugene sang, stretching out the last word to ridiculous lengths even as he began to nuzzle his wife's neck.

She giggled and pushed him away, "Stop, Eugene, that tickles."

"All the more reason to do it." He responded, attempting to renew his attack.

Rapunzel shoved him again, "Go away, you goofball. I'm busy."

"Forget work and come runaway with me." Eugene pleaded.

She laughed, "Where would we go?"

"To that little café in chilly-."

"No thanks."

He shrugged, "Very well. But I still need to finish my song."

"Go ahead."

Smirking, Eugene turned Rapunzel's chair around and knelt down before her. Then, much to her amusement, he launched into song.

"Oh, I never made love by lantern shine—I never saw rainbows in my wine—but now that your lips are burning mine-," he paused, rising up to lay a well-timed kiss on his wife's mouth. Pulling away, Eugene finished triumphantly, "I'm beginning to see the light!"

Rapunzel grinned, complimenting, "Very nice."

"I thought you'd enjoy it." He replied, rising to his feet.

"Did you? And what made you think that?"

"Because I know what you like."

Rapunzel leaned back in her chair, "What do I like, Eugene?"

"Singing, lanterns, and being kissed by your unreasonably handsome husband." He answered, smiling broadly.

"Do you know what else I like?"

Eugene frowned.

"I like the fact that _I_ know what you're getting for Christmas." Rapunzel said smugly.

"And what is that, may I ask?" He raised his eyebrows in curious interest.

"None of your business."

"It's _my_ present—why can't it be my business?"

Rapunzel's smugness was glaringly blatant. "Because I said so."

Eugene smirked ruefully, "Of course. So the shopping excursion went well, then? I didn't get to ask you at dinner."

"I know. You and Harold were too busy arguing over who got the larger half of the wishbone."

"He cheated." Eugene declared stoutly.

She shook her head, "His wife didn't think so."

Her husband snorted, walking over to the dresser. "Yeah, well—she doesn't count. Anyway… did you talk to Annie about that library ki—what I asked you to talk to her about?"

"Yes."

"How did that go?" He opened one of the drawers and began rummaging through it.

"Well." His wife answered thoughtfully. "She asked questions, I answered them, and she understands."

"Really?" Eugene pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt.

Rapunzel nodded, "Yes dear."

"That's _all_ you had to do?"

"Yes."

He turned around, a bundle of clothes in his arms and a faintly annoyed expression on his face. "You know, Rapunzel, sometimes it's just not fair."

She watched as he walked over to her. "What's not fair?"

"How amazing you are at handling those little critters we call our children." Eugene pouted, taking a seat on the edge of her desk to remove his boots. "I mean seriously—it's like you have some kind of mystical power or something."

"Apparently you're not so bad yourself." She smiled up at him, "Ginger said she had a wonderful time sledding with you this afternoon. And, I heard you let Tom outside to play a little bit."

Her husband shrugged, plopping his second boot onto the floor, "The poor kid can't be cooped up in the castle all day."

"He was telling me how you managed to snatch him up and dunk him in the snow at least five times." Rapunzel said, watching as he pulled off his socks.

"He was asking for it."

"He also told me how he managed to tackle you to the ground as well. Twice."

"I was distracted." Eugene replied immediately, glancing at her.

Rapunzel grinned slyly, "Of course you were. No one would _ever_ think that a seven year-old boy could outmatch the illustrious, immensely impressive, talented Flynn Rider."

For a long moment, he held her gaze. Then, unable to withstand those amused green eyes any longer, Eugene got off the desk.

"I think I'm going to go take a bath now."

"And nurse your wounded ego?" His wife asked teasingly.

He shrugged, muttering, "That and the bruise I got when Thomas jumped me."

"He thinks you're indestructible."

"Oh, I know. _Believe_ me-," he groaned, placing a hand on his back, "-I know."

The prince consort of Corona spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathtub that night. In fact, when he finally emerged, fully dressed amid a cloud of steam, Rapunzel was already in bed.

Eugene came over and, with a low moan, fell onto the bed.

Rapunzel prodded him, "About time you got out. I've been waiting nearly an hour to brush my teeth."

"You could've come in—I wouldn't have minded." He responded, his face muffled by pillow.

"I wouldn't have been able to see anything with all that steam. Why on earth do you like it so hot?"

He rolled over, explaining, "Dear, when you've spent the first half of your life bathing in cold water, the concept of warm water is an irresistibly _tantalizing_ one."

"'Tantalizing'?"

"Yes." He replied, looking at her. "Much like you."

Rapunzel smiled, patting him on the head, "Be right back."

"I can't promise I'll be awake."

"That's okay. I'll make do."

She had barely disappeared for more than half a minute when a sudden shriek hit his ears.

Instantly, Eguene sprang up, racing towards the bathroom as his wife came sprinting out. He grabbed her by the shoulders, asking urgently, "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

Rapunzel stared at him, gasping breathlessly: "Cockroach."

He frowned, "What?"

"It's _enormous_. It's like nothing you've ever seen."

"Huh?"

Rapunzel's eyes narrowed and she pointed behind her, angrily exclaiming, "There's a monster in our bathroom!"

A grin spread over his face, "A little bug? _That's_ why you were screaming?"

"_Eugene_!"

"It's just a bu-."

"I don't care what it is—I want it gone." Rapunzel hissed fiercely.

He shook his head, "I can't believe you actually freaked out over a bug."

"Go!" She pushed him towards the bathroom door.

"And do what?"

"Here-," she ran over to her suitcase, pulled out a frying pan, and pressed it into his arms, "-take this."

Eugene's eyes widened, "You brought this with you? No _wonder_ your suitcase was so heavy!"

"_Go_!" Rapunzel shoved him forward.

He laughed, walking into the bathroom, "All right. All right—I'll take care of it. Your man will take care of the little, eensy, weenie, bitty buggie."

Rapunzel crossed her arms, listening as her husband continued talking. She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

"Here, buggie buggie… Come here, you tiny buggie… Buggie bug… bug… buggie, bu—HOLY MACKEREL THAT THING'S _HUGE_!"

Suddenly, there was a loud 'CLANG!'

'CLANG! CLANGITY CLANG! CLANG! CLANGY CLANG! CLINK!'

Rapunzel heard a shocked whoop as her husband slipped on the bathroom carpet.

'CLANKY CLANG!' … 'CLANK CLANG!' … 'CLINK! Clink… clink… clinky… clink…'

"I think—I think I—what in the world—it _FLIES_!"

Rapunzel's eyes widened, "What?"

Eugene let out a rather unmanishly high-pitched yelp, followed by 'CLANG! CLANG! CLANGGG! CLUNG—CLUN-CLINK… clink… clunk.'

There was silence.

Apprehensively, Rapunzel walked over to the bathroom and stuck her head around the door.

Eugene was standing in the middle of the bathroom. He looked rather disheveled with shirt torn, his hair standing on end as he clutched the frying pan in both hands, his eyes the size of soup plates.

Rapunzel moved slowly over to him, whispering, "Did you—did you get it?"

"Huh?" He seemed to be dazed.

"Did you-?"

Eugene shook his head, "No, I lost-."

"_WHAT?_" Without another thought, Rapunzel immediately leapt onto her husband's back, scrambling to get onto his shoulders.

"Rapunzel!" Eugene bucked forward, her hands clutching at his face and shoulders, "What are you-?"

"What do you mean you lost it?" She demanded, still trying her hardest to climb her husband as he attempted to find balance.

"Rapunz—ow—ow, your knee's going into my ribs."

"_Eugene_!"

"Sweetheart, can you please-?"

"Why didn't you tell me you had lost it?" Rapunzel asked, wrapping her arms about his neck.

He rolled his eyes, replying sourly, "Well, I was a bit preoccupied with trying to not get eaten by that monstrosity."

"Where is it now?"

"I don't know, and the be perfectly honest, I don't care. Now get off."

She tightened her hold. "Not until you kill it."

"Rapunz-?"

"Eugene, I'm not leaving you until that thing is dead." She vowed stubbornly.

Eugene groaned, "Fine. But I'll have you know that the last time you did this, you were a lot lighter. Ever since those three kids you've been getting kind of—oof! What was that for?"

"I slipped."

"Yeah right."

"Eugene!" She squeaked, clutching at his arm, "There—there _it_ is!"

He turned his head, spotting the dark blot against the tile of the sink counter. His wife whimpered.

"I know—I got it. Just—be very, _very_, quiet…"

Inching over to the counter, Eugene steadily raised the frying pan above his head. Then, with a decisive 'WHAM! CLANG!' the deed was done.

"Got it." He grinned confidently.

Rapunzel breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness."

"Can you-?"

"Yes. Sorry." She got off her husband, smiling sheepishly.

Then there was a rather hurried knocking at their bedroom door.

"Sounds like they're trying to break the door down." Eugene murmured, marching out of the bathroom with the now, er—_soiled_—frying pan still in his grasp.

He opened the door and found himself face to face with a fairly alarmed-looking Prince Harold of Orae.

"Harold?"

Harold, wearing a rumpled bathrobe, also had a short hunting knife in his hand. Behind him, Eugene could see other men emerging from their bedrooms, various weapons in their hands while their wives peered anxiously over their shoulders. Most of the men appeared bad-tempered. Evidently something had woken them up.

Oh.

"Are you all right in there, Fitzherbert?"

Eugene grinned weakly, "Yeah. Um—we had a bit of-," he glanced down at the frying pan in his hand, "-a bit of a bug problem."

Harold stared at him, repeating blandly, "Bug problem."

"Sort of." He shrugged, hoping that none of the other men were fancying a game of 'hunt Fitzherbert down and kill him'.

Harold shook his head, muttering, "Goodnight, Fitzherbert."

"Goodnight." Eugene called, watching as the prince of Orae began walking back to his own bedroom. He waved at the other princes and representatives, most of whom were glaring at him, "Goodnight, guys."

Eugene closed the door, whistling.

"What was it?" Rapunzel asked worriedly.

He smiled, "Nothing. Um—go ahead and get to bed. I'll clean off the frying pan."

"Okay."

Eugene finished rinsing off the instrument for the last time. Then, setting it down onto the counter, he entered the room and blew out the candle.

When he climbed into bed, Rapunzel hugged him.

"Eugene?"

"Yes dear?"

"You're my hero." She kissed his cheek.

And that made it all worth it.


	25. Vacation at Orae 5

**Author Note**: HAPPY SUNDAY TO ALL! :D :D :D Hey, would ya look at that, I AM alive after all! :D haha sorry bout the wait one and all, and I'm also sorry that this 'Christmas shot' is being put up around Valentine's Day. But if you want to wait to read it until next Christmas then by all means, be my guest! :D Second semester is a nightmare right now. It squashes creativity and time and I'm honestly supposed to be doing homework right now but I wanted to finish this up instead... Not that homework is the only thing keeping me from updating-personal procrastination issues are also at work! I'm sorry and I thank all you guys who continue to check if I'm still working on this story or any of 'em for that matter :D I'll try to keep up, but I won't be able to do as much as I should... so I'm sorry for that. Now moving on...

Anyhoo, now that we're finally wrapping up Orae, I've got about three shots I want to get done before I put up the first post on 'Tom's Story' which, if any of you have seen my profile recently (I actually put stuff on there! I KNOW! I'm surprised too!) you'll get a bit more info about-not much info, mind, but a bit more info than I have here. The following two shots will hopefully be a two-parter involving Annie and our favorite librarian's assistant, both at older ages (16 and 17/18ish respectively) I really wish I could put it up for Tuesday, but unfortunately I know that's not going to happen. Hope you guys don't mind the wait! And then the third shot following that involves the three kids at older ages as well-and that will lead into 'Tom's Story'. That's way far in the future, though, so don't put too much stock into seeing it anytime soon. But I thought I owed you guys a bit of a heads-up since I've been so bad at posting lately... Trust me, I DO have tons planned out for the future. Just getting to it is the hard part.

By the way, thanks for waiting, reading, faving, and reviewing! You all are wonderful! God bless and keep you all! :D

P.S. Did anyone else see the Tangled short? :D I did and I thought it was awesome! :D bahahaha I might do a shot concerning it... I've already gotten much of said shot written down, but I'm not sure if I like it much... your thoughts?

_Soli Deo Gloira_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

"Wahoo!" Thomas pelted around the outer rim of the ice pond, laughing as his skates clacked smoothly against the frozen surface of the water. Cold wind rushed through his hair as he turned the corner, gaining speed, and his eyes began to tear from the sensation. It was awesome, it was amazing, it was the best-.

Whatever 'it' was, got cut unexpectedly short when Thomas's left foot caught on a rut in the ice, and he felt himself flying through the air to land in the nearest snow drift.

"Haha!"

Thomas lifted himself up out of the snow, glaring as Harry, Jr. swooped skillfully around to a neat stop before him. The crown prince of Orae tapped his skates against the ice, grinning.

"You've got to learn how to go fast on turns and not flip off, Tom." Harry declared, his grin widening.

Thomas shrugged the snow from his shoulders, retorting, "I was doing fine—I was going faster than you were!"

"Not anymore! Ha! Try to catch me _now_!" Harry, Jr. tore off in the opposite direction, his skates smoothly cutting across the ice.

Letting out a shout of protest, Thomas hauled himself onto his feet and charged after Harry, Jr., yelling out various insults as he went.

"They're going to kill themselves." Annabelle remarked resignedly, watching as her brother and his friend skidded around the pond—all the while bellowing at each other.

"Probably." Harriet agreed, shaking her head. "Or at the very least get knocked unconscious."

Annabelle sighed and continued skating alongside her friend as, somewhere behind them, their respective brothers crashed into each other.

Harriet glanced at her, "So, did your mom find a present for your dad?"

"Sort-of. She wanted to get him a watch since he lost his old one… but she doesn't know what to put on it."

"'Put on it'?"

She nodded, "You know—like an engraving."

"Hmmm… sounds better than what Mom's getting my dad. I mean, he has enough cravats already."

"Is she really getting him one of those? My dad always says those are torture devices designed by women."

"That's what my dad says too—but only when Mom's not around to hear him." Her friend rolled her eyes.

Annabelle smiled, "Sounds like Mr. Harold."

"Yeah…" Harriet watched her father slide past with her younger brothers on his back. She took a deep breath, muttering, "I wish Phillip was here."

"Isn't he coming over for Christmas?"

"Maybe. He said he wanted to but I just know he's going to get distracted by a new shipment of wood."

There was a faintly surprised yelping as a St. Bernard puppy went by, its little paws slipping frantically on the ice.

"Ginger, what are you doing to those dogs?" Annabelle called, looking over to where her sister and Harriet's youngest sister were perched at the edge of the pond.

Ginger shrugged, "We're just seeing how fast they go—that's all!"

"And they like the snow!" Little Harriet argued, grappling with Porthos who was trying his hardest to escape.

"Little Harriet, this isn't snow, it's _ice_!" Harriet bent down to scoop up the anxious puppy, "Poor Bailey. It's all right—I'll make sure they don't terrorize you again."

Bailey whimpered in her arms and attempted to lick her ear.

"Haha—stop it! Bailey that tickles!" Harriet squirmed, making faces as the puppy's wet tongue hit her face.

Annabelle smiled, "Are you going to keep all of them?"

Her friend shook her head, setting the dog back onto the snow. "Mom doesn't want us to but Dad's trying to convince her otherwise."

"Think it will work?"

"Are you kidding? I think it's more likely we'll be able to teach the dogs how to fly."

Another puppy slipped on past, barking.

Annabelle sighed, adding, "Then again, with Ginger and Little Harriet, they might end up doing just that."

"Hello, ladies." The prince consort of Corona skated gracefully up to them, raising his eyebrows.

"Hello, Mr. Fitzherbert." Harriet smiled.

"Hi Dad." Annabelle replied.

"Are you two behaving yourselves?" He asked, even as another St. Bernard skittered across the ice behind him.

"Is that a trick question?"

"Not intentionally." Eugene easily skated over to Annabelle's other side, whispering, "Anyway, Annie, would you be so kind as to give me another hint about that present you and your mother bought for me a day ago?"

"Mom already told me not to listen to you."

"Yes, but she's busy talking to Miss Felicia and Miss Clara at the moment _so_…"

His daughter shook her head, "I'm not going to get in trouble just because you can't wait for Christmas."

"You wouldn't get in _trouble_." He murmured, glancing over to where Rapunzel was still talking to her friends.

Annabelle gave him a look that reminded him undeniably of his wife.

He shrugged defensively, "All right. Can't blame me for trying."

"If it helps, Mr. Fitzherbert, my dad's getting a cravat." Harriet told him seriously.

Eugene sighed, "Thanks, Harriet."

"You're welcome. Oh, Annie!" Harriet turned, pointing at the far end of the pond, "Looks like some of the town boys are playing hockey against King Dorian's sons! Want to go watch?"

Annabelle nodded, "Okay. See you later, Dad."

"I'll find out what it is eventually!" Eugene called.

"No you won't!" His daughter responded, laughing.

The prince consort leaned back into a pensive swoop around the lower edge of the pond. He had always been rather talented when it came to skating. About a mile or so from the orphanage there had been a lake he and his friends would often skate on whenever part of it froze over. Granted, they had not always had the luxury of skates, but he had learned the trick of it during colder winters. Now—Eugene thought, coasting gently to the center of the pond—he was a master.

Just then, something bumped into his back. He turned around, finding that his wife had joined him out on the ice.

While graceful and skilled in many other ways, Rapunzel had never been the greatest ice-skater in the world. Immediately she latched onto his front, grabbing his jacket in an attempt to keep herself from falling. She grinned nervously up at him, her fingers intwined in the panels of his jacket even as her feet slid uncertainly on the ice.

"Hey." Rapunzel said breathlessly, still trying to maintain balance.

"Howdy." Eugene smiled, setting his hands on her elbows to help keep her stable. "I thought you weren't one much for ice-skating?"

"I'm not but—Ginger asked me if I would come."

"And she hasn't even come out onto the ice yet." He commented, glancing over her head to where their youngest was now burying one of the St. Bernards in the snow.

"I don't think she likes how the skates feel on her feet and really, I—whoa!" Rapunzel slipped slightly, forcing Eugene to adjust his stance, "Sorry about that. Really—I don't blame her."

"You just don't like anything on your feet period." Her husband pointed out.

"Yeah. Um, do we have to stay out in the middle?" She asked, looking around in apprehension.

Eugene cocked his head, "You don't trust me?"

"I don't trust _me_ is more like it."

"Well I've got you. I won't let you fall."

Rapunzel smiled gratefully, "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome." He carefully took her arm in his, nodding forward, "Now—just like I taught you—left."

"Left."

"Right."

"Right."

"Aa-and, repeat." Eugene said, smoothly helping her skate.

His wife sighed as she followed his movements, "It's no fair how good you are at this."

"It's no fair how amazing you are at drawing. We all have our talents and-," he easily stopped her from slipping again, "-our weaknesses. Shows that we're very much human."

"Humanity." Rapunzel muttered.

"It's a curse upon us all." Her husband replied, guiding her to a nearby bank. They both got off the ice and plopped down onto the snow.

Eugene picked a few flecks of ice from between the laces of his skate, murmuring, "So I was talking to Annie…"

"And?"

"She won't even give me a hint." He said, making a face.

Rapunzel gave him a smug grin, "Good. I asked her not to."

"I know." He narrowed his eyes, frowning, "Are you going to tell me anything about my present?"

Her grin widened, "You're getting it tomorrow."

"Anything I don't already know, dearest love." Eugene replied wryly.

She pursed her lips, "Hmm—yes, I _can_ tell you something you don't know."

"What?"

"It is something that your son will not try to steal."

"That's a relief. What else?"

Rapunzel shook her head, "I only promised to tell you one thing."

"You didn't _promise_ to tell me anything." Her husband pointed out, knocking her shoulder with his.

She returned the gesture, nodding, "True. All right—Annie and I will be going back downtown today to pick it up."

"So you had to order it?" He asked, his mind already calculating up possibilities.

"In a manner of speaking."

A yelping puppy suddenly slipped across the ice and onto the snow in front of them.

"Maybe you should also take Ginger-snap with you. I think the dogs need a bit of a break." Eugene said, watching as his wife scooped the St. Bernard up into her arms.

Rapunzel snuggled the dog, resting her cheek against her soft fur. "Can we get a puppy?"

"No."

"But Eugene, look how _adorable_ she is!" She hummed happily and stroked the animal's fur, earning a few licks of appreciation.

Eugene shook his head, "No. They make me sneeze."

"Oh, they do _not_." Rapunzel replied, rolling her eyes.

"And can you imagine the sort of trouble Thomas would get into if he had a little furred monster like that to help him out? Because I can, and honestly, it gives me chills."

"That's the snow talking, dear." Rapunzel smiled down at the dog, "What a fluffy puppy you are!"

"No dogs." Eugene said firmly.

She looked up at him, "What about a cat?"

"_Definitely_ no cats. The frog is enough trouble."

His wife's green eyes narrowed, and she corrected sternly, "Pascal's not a pet, Eugene, he's a family member."

He sighed, "I know."

"_And_ he's a chameleon." Rapunzel added, setting the dog back down so she could go caper off to her mother.

"_And_ he spent half the night sneezing into my ear." Eugene retorted, absently wiping at his ear. "I mean, I thought the tongue thing was bad enough…"

"He has a cold and he can't help it."

Eugene looked at her, demanding, "But why does he insist on sleeping on me? For goodness sake, he's _your_ chameleon!"

"Because you're the warmest thing in the room." His wife said simply.

"I still don't like it." He muttered.

"Okay, if it bothers you that much, I'll ask him to stop."

"You don't have to do that."

"Promise?"

He smiled, "Yes, dear, I promise."

Rapunzel hugged his arm, murmuring, "You _are_ amazing, aren't you?"

"That's what they tell me."

"The voices in your head?"

"Yep, and they just won't shut up."

She laughed and got unsteadily to her feet. Setting her hand against his shoulder, Rapunzel nodded over to the castle, "Want to help me to the door, Mr. Fitzherbert?"

"It would be my pleasure, your Highness."

After escorting his wife back inside, Eugene returned to where his youngest daughter was still trying to make a doggie snowman out of one of the St. Bernards.

Eugene folded his arms and said, "I thought you wanted to go ice skating, Ginger-snap."

"I changed my mind." She replied, piling more snow on top of the dog.

Eugene groaned and reached down, lifting the hapless animal out of the snow.

Ginger pouted, "But Daddy, I was-."

"Your mother-," he set the puppy back onto the ground, "-came out here specifically because you wanted to her to come skate with you. And she did skate. I mean, she also slipped a lot but she was still skating. You, however, have not even put your skates on."

Ginger tried to avoid her father's gaze, murmuring, "Lil Harriet and I were playing with the puppies."

"I can see that."

"I didn't—I was going to go out but—the skates feel weird."

"Did you tell your mother that?"

Ginger mumbled, "Well—no…"

"Did you ask her if it was all right if you didn't skate with her?" Eugene asked simply.

"No sir."

"Well, Ginger-snap, I think you need to go apologize."

She looked up at him, squirming uncomfortably.

Eugene smiled, "She's inside, sweetie."

Ginger nodded and immediately turned, running for the doors of the castle. The little girl would probably catch her mother before she was even halfway up the staircase.

Her father sighed, looking around to watch his son spin out on the ice yet again.

"You're going too fast, Thomas!" Eugene called, even as Thomas pushed himself up onto his knees.

The boy grinned at him, despite the redness on his face from where it had rubbed upon the ice. "But it's fun going fast!"

His father sighed and skated over, helping him stand upright, "It may be fun going fast _but_ what is not fun is losing half the skin on your face. Look at me." He gingerly touched his son's forehead, earning a wince and a groan. Eugene gave him a sympathetic smile, "Yeah. That's going hurt for a while."

"Ow…"

He patted him on the back, "Stop skating so fast, buddy. Your skin can't handle that kind of friction."

Eugene straightened, and then received a snowball to the back of his head.

"Hey! Who threw-?" He turned, not noticing that a snowball knocked his son back onto the ice.

"Come on, Fitzherbert!" Harold shouted, grinning cheekily as he tossed a snowball up and down in his hand. "What are you standing around for?"

Eugene narrowed his eyes, hissing, "Oh no he didn't."

"Harry!" Thomas sprang to his feet, bellowing angrily: "I'm going to get you for that!"

Harry, Jr. and his brother Hernandez stood by their father, also juggling snowballs with wide smirks on their faces. "I'd like to see you try!" The crown prince of Orae shouted, tossing another snowball towards them.

Thomas easily ducked, but had to steady himself by grasping hold of his father's sleeve.

Eugene glanced down at his son, "Ready to show those Oraen princes how the men of Corona fight, Thomas?"

"Yeah." He nodded, already measuring the distance between himself and Harry, Jr.

"Let's get 'em."

Yelling, both Eugene and his son sped towards the place where their 'enemies' were already building a snow fort.

* * *

A few hours later, Rapunzel and her eldest daughter had returned to the watchmaker's shop to pick up the pocket watch for her husband. They waited patiently in line at the counter, listening as the bell over the door jingled and more customers filed into place. Apparently, today was pick-up day for the majority of the city's residents.

Beyond the main part of the store, Rapunzel could hear several men and one woman's voice calling out order numbers to each other. Occasionally, an errand boy would emerge from the back with whatever merchandise was required. After listening to a loud argument between a lady customer and the manager of the store, Rapunzel and her daughter finally were able to request their order.

The man wiggled his mustache irritably, reading out the receipt: "'Order 329; golden pocket watch inlaid with ivory, includes compass; message scripted across the back'." He looked up at Rapunzel, raising his eyebrows, "Is this correct?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Very well. I'll send Duke to get it. Please wait by the counter." The man turned to his errand boy and sent him scooting off to the back while Rapunzel and her daughter stood patiently at the counter.

Annabelle frowned, looking up at her mother, "I thought you hadn't decided what to put on his watch?"

Her mother shrugged, "I sent a servant down with my request this morning. He caught them just as the shop was opening."

"And they finished it that fast?"

She nodded, "Apparently. It was an easy job though—the message wasn't really that long."

"What is it?" Annabelle asked, curious.

Rapunzel tilted her head teasingly, "You're almost as bad as your father. Just wait, I'll show you in a few minutes."

"And then can we go to that store and see if they finished with Stan's glasses case?" She asked hopefully.

"Of course we can."

Annabelle sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "I hope he likes it. Do you think getting his name put on the cover was a good idea?"

Her mother replied, "Yes, I do. It's a very thoughtful gift, Annie. Stan will like it because it shows that you're thinking about him."

"Well good, because I _am_ thinking about him." The girl said—although softly so that only her mother could hear.

"H'order three 'undred nine an' twenty." Duke had returned to the counter.

His boss nodded, "Good lad. Go ahead and give it to the young lady while I make the transaction."

Rapunzel began to fill out a bank note from the Corona treasury as Duke trotted around the counter.

"Your h'order, Miss." The errand boy thrust a carefully wrapped package into Annabelle's hands.

"Thank you." Annabelle replied, smiling.

Duke grinned widely and held out a slightly grubby hand.

"Duke, no tips!" His employer barked sharply, glaring down at the boy. "And go fetch Order 450!"

The errand boy groaned but did as commanded, scurrying off to the back of the store.

The man shook his head, muttering as he finished filling out Rapunzel's receipt, "Lad knows we don't allow tips. He's paid decently enough for what he does. Anyway, Marm-," he gave her the form, "-thank you for your business and if you have any complaints, please come after Christmas and we'll try to attend to you."

"Thank you, sir." Rapunzel nodded and led her daughter out of the shop.

They visited the leather goods store next, and after talking briefly with the managing clerk, eventually emerged from the building with another package in Annabelle's arms.

She beamed at her mother, "The case looks wonderful, doesn't it?"

Rapunzel smiled back, "Yes dear. And they spelled his name right."

"'Stanley James Issacs'." Annabelle said happily. "It just sounds like a good name."

They crossed the street and started passing by another line of storefronts. Annabelle continued talking cheerfully, clearly taking her mother's advice 'enjoy having a crush on a guy' to heart. Then they strolled by a certain store, and her conversation broke off.

"Annie?" Rapunzel frowned, trying to figure out why her daughter had stopped both walking and speaking.

"Mom, look at that dress." Annabelle said, gazing at the glass storefront.

"Which one?"

She pointed at one of the displays, "That dark purple one—right there!"

Rapunzel did as asked. "Okay. What about it?"

"You and Dad have that party tonight, right? With all the other adults?" Annabelle asked, glancing at her.

Her mother nodded uncertainly, "Ye-e-es."

"What are you wearing?"

She frowned, "Well, I have that blue gown from-."

"I think you should get this one." Her daughter interrupted.

Rapunzel gave her a sideways smile, saying patiently, "Annie, I don't think-."

"Oh come on!" Annabelle gestured at the dress again, pleading, "At least try it on, Mom!"

"Why?" Rapunzel was surprised. Her daughter did not normally exert this much enthusiasm about something that was not books or Stanley.

"Because I think you'd look really, _really_ good in it." Annabelle answered, really fast, with a confidence that was striking.

"Do you really want me to try it on?"

She clasped her hands together in dramatics reminiscent of her father. "Please?"

Rapunzel looked once more at the dress, sighing reluctantly. "All right. Let's go see what this is about."

Annabelle grinned, "Thanks, Mom. Trust me, you won't regret it."

"I'm beginning to regret it already."

The girl snorted, "_Please_, Mom, you'll look great."

She smiled thankfully, replying, "Sweetheart, three kids ago I looked great."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your father mentioned something about that the other night. He may have been teasing but-." She stopped, her green eyes narrowing in determination. "You know what? I really do want to try it on now."

"Really?"

"Yes. If your father thinks I'm not half as fit as I was thirteen years ago, he's got another thing coming."

Annabelle laughed, "No kidding—knock him off his feet!"

"Let's go, dear." She led her daughter into the shop.

* * *

Whatever resolve Rapunzel had gained outside of the store, dwindled rather rapidly in the dressing room. For one thing, she still had not managed to get all the lacing done up in the back. For another, she had seen the price tag. That many zeros should be illegal, no matter how fine the fabric was.

"Mom, are you almost finished?" Annabelle's voice filtered through the curtain.

"Almost, Annie. I've just-," she felt for the ribbons at the back, "-got to finish with the laces."

There was a disappointed sigh, followed by a rustling of paper.

"Are you looking at your father's watch?" Rapunzel asked, still searching for the laces that seemed to have vanished from the back of her dress.

"Can I?" There was more crackling of paper. Evidently Annabelle had taken her silence as a 'yes'.

"What do you think?" Her mother asked, momentarily giving up on the ribbons.

"Aw… it's really sweet, Mom."

"Do you think your father will like it?"

"Considering Dad doesn't even know he's getting a watch for Christmas, I think he'll be happy with just that. But your message is really nice."

Rapunzel gritted her teeth, struggling to find the laces again. "There's a story to go with that, actually."

"What? You mean the one with the magic flower and lanterns and bla bla I've heard this one…"

"No—not that one." Rapunzel groaned in frustration, "Annie, this dress doesn't fit."

"What?"

"I'm telling you—I can't seem to find the laces so _obviously_-," she closed her eyes, hissing regretfully, "-it doesn't fit."

"Come out and I'll check them."

Her mother sighed, trotting out into the open, "I'm telling you, dear, I don't think-." Rapunzel was cut off by a sudden gasp.

She looked over at her daughter, frowning. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"_Mom_…" Annabelle declared breathlessly.

"What?" Rapunzel self-consciously touched the front of her dress. "Is it really that bad?"

"Mom." The girl repeated, a wide, ecstatic grin crossing her face. "You. Look. Amazing."

"Amazing?"

"_Ah_-_mazing_!"

Rapunzel raised her eyebrows, replying, "Um. Well, okay, but you haven't seen the back because I can't-." She suddenly felt two hands push her forward. "Look at the mirror, Mom!"

"What are you-? Annie, if you don't-."

"Just look."

Rapunzel fought down the urge to retort and did as ordered. She immediately straightened, gazing at her reflection.

The dress fit well. _Very_ well.

"Annie." She said quietly.

"Yes, Mom?"

"Please tell that gorgeous woman to get out of my way because I can't see myself."

Annabelle burst out laughing.

"Oh, so you think it's funny, do you?" Rapunzel asked, smiling as her daughter coutinued to giggle uproariously.

"Mom, you're hilarious. And-," Annabelle added, smirking, "-Dad's going to be speechless."

"I'm not so sure about that, dear. Your father's never had trouble voicing his opinions before." Rapunzel tilted her head, still looking at her own reflection, "Annie, could you finish lacing up the back for me?"

"Um, that might be kind-of hard."

"What do you mean?"

Annabelle shrugged, "Well…"

Rapunzel turned so that her back faced the mirror, and glanced over her shoulder. Then she realized she could see a fair amount of skin. Her eyes widened, "That's—that's quite low."

"It's awesome, Mom."

Rapunzel shook her head, demanding, "Why on earth would they be selling something so skimpy in the middle of December in Orae? For goodness sake, it's _snowing_ outside!"

Annabelle waved her hand dismissively, "Who cares? You look great in it."

"I can't wear this!"

"Mom, _please_."

Her mother protested, "Annie, I'm not going to go around talking to foreign dignitaries while wearing half a dress!"

"Why not? Maybe you'll get some new treaties?"

Rapunzel narrowed her eyes, disapproving, "Annabelle Fitzherbert."

"Sorry." She grinned sheepishly. "I guess I overstepped the boundaries a little."

"Just a little."

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just—you're the hot mom!"

Her mother glanced down in surprise, "I'm the what?"

Annabelle shrugged, "See, the girls were talking the other night… and I was just sitting there—I didn't say anything—but they were talking and said that out of all our moms, you're the hottest one!"

"Really?"

Her daughter smiled, "Well—yeah. And to be honest, Claudia brought it up first. And we all agreed—well, _I_ kept my mouth shut—but we all agreed that you were the prettiest mom. And you are. I mean—I've always thought you were beautiful."

"Aw, Annie!" Rapunzel hugged her impulsively, replying, "Well I've always thought I had the most beautiful daughters in the world."

"Thanks, Mom." Annabelle responded happily, returning the hug.

"You're so sweet." Rapunzel straightened, gently brushing back her daughter's bangs. "All the girls are sweet—all their mothers are beautiful too. But-," she sighed, turning back to the mirror, "-I really don't think I can do this."

"We could get you a shawl to go with it."

"But what about the price?"

Annabelle arched an eyebrow, suggesting, "Wear that dress up to the counter and ask the clerk to lower the price."

"Do you think it will work?"

Annabelle nodded.

Rapunzel gave her a small, confident smile. "All right, dear. Step back and watch."

The princess of Corona sidled over to the counter where the clerk, a young man not much older than twenty, happened to be staring out the window at passersby.

* * *

"Argh, _what_ can be taking her so long?" Eugene moaned, lifting his face to gaze across the sitting room towards the bedchamber door.

"Dad, she has to get ready." His eldest daughter replied, turning a page in her book.

"_I_ wasn't ready when she shoved me out of the room. For goodness sake I barely had my vest on!"

Annabelle rolled her eyes.

"And-," Eugene said, holding out a scrap of cloth disdainfully, "-I grabbed the wrong cravat!"

His daughter seemed unimpressed by this declaration, and ignored him.

"Hey Dad, you got any threes?" Thomas asked, glancing up from his cards.

"What? No. No threes." Eugene answered, glancing down at where his son sat next to him on the floor.

In response, Thomas grinned and punched his father in the arm.

"Yowch!" Eugene clapped a hand over his throbbing arm. "What was that for?"

Thomas explained bombastically, "It's 'Go Fishing Punch!' I thought you liked this game?"

"Well, I—I do but—ow, Thomas-," he muttered, "-not so hard next time."

"Sorry. Your turn."

"Got any fives?"

Thomas looked around evasively, muttering, "Maybe."

His father raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, no." The boy closed his eyes, waiting for the hit.

Eugene laughed and landed a fairly even blow to his son's shoulder, earning a grunt for his efforts.

While Thomas clutched at his arm and continued to groan loudly, Ginger trotted over to plop down next to her father. She had her mother's chameleon in her hands, and was stroking his tiny back.

"Pascal doesn't like the cold." Ginger informed her father, looking up at him with concern in her big green eyes.

Eugene shook his head, "No, Ginger-snap, I'd say he doesn't. Are you taking care of him?"

"Yeah." She nodded slightly. "He can sleep in my room tonight."

"All right. Just make sure your mother's okay with it."

"Okay." The little girl turned back to the chameleon in her lap, clearly still anxious about his welfare.

Eugene patted her comfortingly on the back, "He'll be fine, Ginger-snap. Don't you worry. That frog's made of tougher stuff than anything Orae can throw at him."

She smiled, correcting, "Daddy, he's a chameleon."

He pouted outrageously, asking, "Now, are you _completely_ sure?"

She giggled, wrapping her arms about his and hugging him tightly.

Eugene grinned, only to experience a more unpleasant feeling in his other arm when Thomas landed another punch to his shoulder.

"Dad, you're taking too long."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Um—got any-?"

"It's my turn." Thomas reminded, narrowing his brown eyes.

"Right. Go ahead, Thomas."

"Got any kings?"

His father brandished the requested card, "Believe it or not, I do."

"Aw, man." Thomas accepted the king, frowning in disappointment.

"Got any aces?" Eugene asked.

His son closed his eyes again, "No sir."

"Ha!" Instead of punching the boy, Eugene simply grabbed him up and proceeded to rub his knuckles vigoriously against his head.

"Dad—no—stop! Dad! Dad—gerroff!" Thomas struggled, grasping at his father's arm even as Eugene went on with his relentless attack.

"Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy?" Eugene demanded, scrubbing at his son's hair.

"You are! You—urmf—are!"

"And who's the _best_ daddy in the world?"

Thomas went limp, moaning, "Dad—ugh…"

Eugene laughed, releasing his son and admiring the way his hair now resembled the backside of a porcupine. Thomas stared at him, wide-eyed, and tenderly felt the top of his scalp.

"Do I still have hair?"

"Yep. And plenty of it." He affectionately attempted to smooth down the boy's hair.

Thomas wriggled out from beneath his hand and quickly rose onto his feet, glaring at his father. He pointed at him, accusing, "You cheated!"

Eugene grinned, "Cheated? How is that cheating?"

"Well, Dad, you were just supposed to punch him." Annabelle pointed out, looking up from her book.

He shrugged, "Punching him—balding him—what's the difference?"

"Aha! Take that!" Without warning, Thomas launched himself at his father, knocking him back onto the rug.

In seconds the two were wrestling, rolling around amid the abandoned playing cards and letting out sounds of triumph and frustration. Apparently Eugene had forgotten he had a sophisticated adult's Christmas party to attend later that night. Then again, given that his son had just decided to attack him, Eugene probably felt that a retaliation of some kind was far too necessary not to enact.

Ginger quickly trotted over to the safety of her sister's chair, squeezing herself beside Annabelle and gaping at her brother and father.

Her sister sighed, closing her book, "I hope Mom finishes getting ready soon."

"Annie?" Ginger asked, turning away from where her father was giving Thomas a half nelson.

"Yeah?"

"What did Mommy get Daddy for Christmas?"

Annabelle smiled, "Promise not to tell?"

She nodded earnestly, "Mm-hmm."

"All right—come here."

Ginger leaned over, allowing her sister to cup her hands over her ear and reveal the identity of their father's Christmas present while both Fitzherbert men continued their tussle on the floor.

"Ha, gotcha!" Victoriously, Eugene snatched Thomas up and dumped him onto the sofa cushions. He then turned from his dazed son to look over at his daughters. "What are you two whispering over there?"

"Nothing." Annabelle said hastily.

Ginger simply beamed.

"Ginger-snap, I know that face means-."

"Pillow fight!" Thomas rose up from the sofa and began to batter his father with one of the frilly pillows.

The prince consort laughed, "Pillow fight? _Really_?"

However, when all his son did was continue to whack him with the pillow, Eugene sighed and sat down on the sofa. He then let his head fall backward so he could gaze at the ceiling, and loudly announced to the world in general: "We're going to be late."

"No we're not."

Rapunzel had evidently entered the room.

He snorted, asking, "Oh, so you didn't get lost after all?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Eugene. I was just touching up."

Eugene rolled his eyes, "For goodness sake, you don't have to look like the Empress of Auxuria, Rapunzel. It's _just_ a party."

"It's not just any party, Eugene, it's the Annual Winter-."

"Yeah yeah yeah, and I'm-." He looked up, and words left him.

He had never seen her wear _that_ dress before.

"Oh, Mommy!" Ginger slipped off the chair and hurried over to her mother, beaming. "You're so pretty!"

Rapunzel took her hands in hers, exclaiming, "Thank you, sweetie!"

Annabelle smiled, "You look awesome, Mom."

"And thank you too, Annie." Rapunzel turned back to the sofa. "Well, boys? What do you think?"

Thomas shrugged, giving up on initiating a pillow fight, "Color's nice, I guess."

His father carefully got to his feet, an uncertain smile crossing his face. He held out his hands, finally pronouncing, "That—that's new."

Rapunzel gave a short laugh, touching the front of her dress. "What? _This_ old thing?"

"Pffft—yeah, that old thing." He remarked, grinning.

"Annie helped me pick it out today while we were downtown finishing our Christmas shopping."

Eugene called over his shoulder, "Annie, come over here."

"Okay." She came over to him, and was promptly pulled into a hug.

"You're my favorite oldest daughter."

"I'm your only oldest daughter." She said, carefully inching out of her father's embrace.

Eugene shrugged, "Still my favorite."

Annabelle asked quietly, "So, what do you think?"

He winked at her, and Annabelle smiled.

"Now-," Rapunzel crouched down and addressed her children, "-come here for a minute."

They obediently formed a half-circle around her, listening as she began to discuss the night's schedule. Much of it concerned brushing teeth and taking baths, as well as 'do what Annie says', which produced several disappointed groans from Thomas. Eugene did not really listen to this conversation, spending much of it standing behind his wife and admiring how smoothly the dress's skirt flowed down from her shapely hips. Somehow there was something appealing about the contrast between her fancy dress and perfume and how she dealt with their uncombed kids. She may have been a mom, but she was a _good-looking_ mom.

"All right, promise me you'll get to bed on time?" Rapunzel asked, looking from Thomas to Ginger.

"Yes ma'am." They replied dutifully.

"Thank you." She smiled and pulled them into a hug, all three at once, adding a kiss on the head for each. "Goodnight. I love you very much."

Ginger responded cheerfully, "Goodnight Mommy."

"Night, Mom. See you in the morning." Annabelle said, watching as her mother rose to her feet.

"Mom, can't I stay up just a little longer?" Thomas asked, frowning.

Rapunzel shook her head, "No, Tom. Knowing you, you're going to get up around six in the morning anyway to open presents so you're not going to be missing much time."

Her husband cleared his throat, walking up and setting his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, kiddos, Beautiful Gorgeous and I need to get going so goodnight and get to bed on time."

"'Beautiful Gorgeous'?" She asked, smirking.

"I'll come up with a better one before the end of the night." He promised.

"Where's your cravat?"

"Not sure. Possibly stuffed under the sofa by this point."

Rapunzel sighed, "Oh well, we've got to get going or we really will be late. Annie, make sure they wash behind their ears."

"I will, Mom."

"And whatever you do-," Eugene added, already ushering his wife out the door, "-don't let Thomas destroy Harry's bedroom again."

Annabelle nodded, "Goodnight, Dad."

He gave her a quick grin before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"Sooo-," Eugene said conversationally, looking down at the woman whose arm was now linked with his, "-what made you decide to get a new dress?"

Rapunzel gave a half-shrug, "Annie convinced me. She said I would look nice in it."

"'Nice' is the understatement of the century."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Three kids later and I haven't lost anything?" His wife asked teasingly.

Eugene grinned, admitting, "Three kids later and you're more beautiful and sexier than ever."

"Honest?" She was surprised with the sincerity in his voice.

"Yep. You are amazing. And yet-," he tilted his head slightly, "-I can't help but wonder…"

Her eyes narrowed, "Wonder what?"

"Does this have anything to do with my Christmas present?" Eugene glanced down at his wife, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rapunzel considered his question as they continued down the hallway. Strains of music could be heard as they started to descend the staircase. Intermixed with the violin notes was the garbled noise of many people talking. Listening to this sound, Rapunzel decided firmly, "No. But it would match well."

"Match well?"

"Yes. It would match well."

"Oh." Eugene said, evidently disappointed.

"What's the matter?"

"You got me a cravat, didn't you?" Her husband gave a wry laugh. "Same color as the dress, probably made of the same material—I get it."

Rapunzel smiled, reassuring him, "I didn't get you a cravat."

"What did you get me then?"

"I am not going to tell you."

"Are you going to tell me if there's a back to that dress of yours?" Eugene asked, indicating the shawl over her shoulders.

She gave a little toss of her head, "You might find out later."

He grinned, "Later?"

"Later—_if_ you behave yourself tonight."

"I promise not to touch the eggnog."

Rapunzel breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness for that. The last thing I want to hear at one in the morning is you and Harold belting out 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' while forgetting half the words and mixing the other half up with 'The Twelve Goats of Christmas'."

"For the record, I had no idea the stuff was spiked."

"You found out the next morning, though." She replied as they approached the entrance to the banquet chamber.

"Yeah—that's a bad memory. Let's not go there." He smiled down at her, "Ready to knock the socks off every man and make all their wives jealous, my love?"

Rapunzel nodded, responding, "Just try to keep up, Eugene."

"Oho, no worries there. I _will_."

* * *

The Annual Winter Conference Christmas Party at Orae (or AWCCPO, for those who like acronyms) was a very pleasant time of talking, dancing, eating, and generally being adults without children for a few hours with other people who could be adults without children for a few hours. However, eventually those few hours passed on, and the evening was drawing to a close. With many 'goodnights' and 'see you in the mornings' and several 'Merry Christmases', the princess and prince consort of Corona began their trip back down the keep's hallway to the staircase and bed.

Rapunzel yawned, absently adjusting her shawl, "Eugene, what time is it?"

He patted his vest pockets, mumbling, "Hang on—let me check my-." He froze, suddenly realizing what he was about to say. Instead of continuing his sentence, Eugene began to search the pockets of his trousers, muttering, "Has to be around here—somewhere… Couldn't have—misplaced—must be… I'll bet it's—somewhere…"

His wife smiled slightly, watching as he repeatedly checked the same pockets twice before eventually resorting to searching down his socks.

"What's wrong, Eugene?"

"Nothing-," he set his shoulder against a nearby wall, yanking off a boot, "-nothing's wrong. I just—I-." Eugene broke off, slowly looking up to see the calm smile on his wife's face. He sighed, pulling his boot back on. "I may have—I may have lost my pocket watch."

Rapunzel feigned frustration. "Did you really?"

"Yeah. Sorry, 'bout that."

"And this is the one that Annie and I-."

Eugene interrupted hastily, shaking his head, "Yes, it's the one that you and Annie picked out for me and that has teeth marks and a small dent where Thomas threw it into the wall, and Ginger-snap's fingerprints on the glass. It's the one I've managed to keep up with for thirteen years and yet, somehow, I've lost it. And I don't know where it is and I'm really, really sorry, Rapunzel. I really am."

"That's okay. I'll help you look for it when we get home." She replied forgivingly.

"I've been looking for at least a month." Eugene warned.

"You haven't had it for a month? No wonder you've been late to all those meetings."

"Yeah—see, I tried borrowing one-."

Rapunzel looked at him quickly, "'Borrowing'?"

He gave a rueful grin, "Your dad didn't appreciate it very much. Apparently it was a birthday present from your mom."

His wife gasped, "You tried to steal my dad's watch?"

"Borrow! I did ask, sort-of." She raised her eyebrow. "All right—I left a note. But I returned it the next day and honestly, I think he's the one who blew it out of proportion. I ended up with a lot of paperwork to do that week and half of it I didn't even understand."

"Wow." She made a faint tsking sound. "Eugene, still stealing?"

"I apologized, and I feel bad about it, and really—he _was_ laughing when I gave it back."

"Probably because he knew how much paperwork you were going to end up with as consequence."

"Yeah. You know, sometimes I think the only reason he let me marry you is just so he has someone to pick on."

Rapunzel nodded, "Possibly. And Mom probably talked him into it."

"And no one can deny your mother anything." Eugene noted.

"Nope." She shook her head. "In some ways she's more powerful than my father in that respect."

"Must be the green eyes."

"Do you mean, _these_ green eyes?" Rapunzel batted her eyelashes at him.

"Yep. Sealed my fate the minute I saw 'em."

"Right." She smiled, turning her head up to look at him. "So, you lost that pocket watch?"

"Unfortunately." Eugene frowned. Was it just him, or was she getting closer?

"You know, dear, I'm rather disappointed in you."

"Are you?" He began to back up.

"I mean, it was a very-," she got closer, "-_very_ important watch."

Eugene scooted farther away, apprehensive. "I said I was sorry."

"You did." Rapunzel gave him a slight push backwards so that his back came in contact with the wall.

"Rapunz-."

She slid her hands slowly up his chest, causing him to laugh slightly.

"That—that tickles."

"I know it does."

"Then why are you-?" He paused and turned his eyes upward. Suspended above them, strung up by some cheeky young servant boy hoping to catch a maid or two, was a cluster of white berries and green leaves.

Eugene grinned, "Clever. Very clever."

"I believe you owe me a kiss or two." Rapunzel declared smugly.

He smirked, "Or five. I'm not picky."

"Merry Christmas, Eugene."

"Indeed." He replied, already closing his eyes as her mouth met his.

Rapunzel had always been, in her husband's mind, a fairly good kisser. Even during their first few days together as a couple, she had displayed a confident competence that quite surprised him. Techniques of any kind were her strengths, and her boundless creativity was just an added bonus. And now, years later, after marriage and children and whatnot, there were still occasions when her kisses left him numb with amazement. That night, under the mistletoe in the privacy of the hallway, ended up being one such occasion.

A few minutes later, Eugene was thanking High Heaven for the wall behind him, since he felt his knees would about to give way in another second. He had his arms around his wife, and could feel hers encircled around his neck while she nestled her head beneath his chin. She smelled really good. She felt even better.

"Mmm—that was nice." Rapunzel whispered, snuggling more into his chest.

Eugene made a faint squeak of agreement.

"All right, dear?"

"M'okay."

"Good."

After another moment or two, Eugene regained some more thought mobility, and said, "So, there _is_ a back to this dress after all."

"No there isn't, there's just-." She stopped a slow smile crossing her face. "Very funny."

"Finely made back too." Eugene commented, running his thumb along the dip in her back. "Quite a masterpiece."

Rapunzel closed her eyes, murmuring, "At least your hands are warm."

"Yep. Though I don't see why you bothered with that shawl."

"Because it's not dignified for the representative of a foreign country-."

Eugene snorted, "Country-smountry—you're gorgeous and there's no shame in that."

"I still have a reputation to uphold as future monarch."

He adjusted his arms slightly, replying, "I know. But, on a different note, I've got to tell you that moments like this make me _really_ happy I climbed your tower."

"You're not the only one who's happy about that." She said quietly, listening to his heartbeat.

"Probably not." He pursed his lips, asking, "So, do you think those kids have gotten to bed yet?"

"Maybe."

"Washed and scrubbed?"

His wife took a deep breath, "We can hope."

"Because you know they're going to jump on us tomorrow morning. Even if we lock the door."

"I still don't know why you taught Tom how to pick locks."

"It's an important life skill." Eugene said defensively. "I just didn't know he'd use it on our bedroom door."

"Maybe if you came up with a lock he couldn't pick?" She suggested.

Her husband shook his head, "Nah, he'd figure it out. He's too smart for our own good."

Rapunzel laughed, "Gets it from his dad."

"Haha. Maybe so."

Just then, a rather out-of-tune warbling hit their ears.

"Ah-," Eugene winced, "-Harold's started to sing."

"Oh dear."

"And that fellow named Plummer joined him. Sounds like they've got the goat song mixed up with 'The Lovely Flowers of Springtime'."

"Not a good match." Rapunzel remarked.

Eugene cocked his head, hearing an unmistakable howling. "And they've added in a St. Bernard, apparently."

"Wow…"

"This is just ruining whatever romance we had so-," he gently took her by the shoulders, "-would you like to be carried back to your room, m'dear?"

His wife smiled, "If you're offering."

"All righty then. Let's see how fast we can escape the lyrical stylings of our host and his pooch."

Eugene easily picked his wife up into his arms, and quickly fled for the staircase. Behind them, the prince or Orae magnificently launched into another verse, and was shrilly interrupted by the scoldings of his wife.

* * *

Annabelle woke up the early the next morning. Barely making a sound, she slipped out of bed, pulled on her bathrobe, and crept over to her suitcase. Harriet moved slightly, shifting the quilt on her bed and moaning about Philip the Wood Duke's son and his propensity to talk about lumber. Annabelle, carefully reaching into her suitcase, listened to her friend's mumbles and had to keep herself from laughing. Then, finding what she had been looking for, the girl carefully departed, closing the door behind her.

She moved silently down the empty corridor, holding a neatly wrapped present to her chest and hardly breathing as she went down to the end of the hall. Where the staircase led downstairs, there was also a small, circular alcove with three window seats. Annabelle took one of these seats, pressing her left arm up against the chilly glass and looking out at the snow-covered mountains outside. Back home, the tide would be going out as the faintest glow of sunlight rose on the horizon. In another hour the waves would become more distinguished, showing flashes of gold as they reflected the rising sun, and the gulls would be calling.

She wondered if he would hear them.

Annabelle turned to the gift in her hands. Then she slowly tore apart the wrappings, trying to make as little noise as possible. Within seconds, Annabelle found herself holding a small, leather-bound journal. She ran her fingers over the cover and spine, admiring the softness of the handsome brown leather. The familiar fragrance of leather, new paper, and glue immediately made her homesick, and she opened the book, listening to the sound of pages rustling against each other.

On the title page was a message, written out in the same hand that had penned her name upon the gift tag.

'Annie, for all those times you have something to say, but can't, write it down. Someday you'll get a chance to say it, and I'll always be around to listen. Merry Christmas. –Stan'

Annabelle stared, quite certain she had never read anything so wonderful in her entire life.

"Annie!"

She looked up to find her brother and sister, still in pajamas, standing at the entrance to the alcove. Thomas's hair stuck up in all kinds of directions, and Ginger had Pascal sitting on her shoulder. Both boy and girl were beaming at her.

"Let's go wake Mom and Dad up!" Thomas said, hurrying to the staircase.

Annabelle smiled widely, "Coming."

She tucked her new journal underneath her arm and took Ginger's offered hand.

"Merry Christmas, Annie." Her sister said brightly.

Annabelle smiled, "Merry Christmas."

"Are you guys coming or what?" Thomas demanded, running back up the stairs to gape at his sisters.

"We're coming. We're coming." Both girls joined their brother as, with an enthusiastic hoot that probably woke most of the castle residents, Thomas charged down the steps.

* * *

_Oh, and by the way, Stan bought the leather, pages, stitching and glue with money out of his own savings, and spent the previous weeks' worth of nights staying up late to bind the journal. That's right-he made the book himself. Put it together and everything. :D Gotta say, this kid is cool. Annie finds out later what work he put into the thing, but I thought I'd let you know in case I don't get around to mentioning it later._


	26. Snickerdoodle 1

**Author Note**: So... I know I said I wasn't going to post anything but... I started this and I just couldn't stop... and I have almost an entire book to read and a paper to write by Friday so this was probably a stupid idea, but I wanted to get it done anyway. So it's done, and I'm happy. Scared about my paper, but happy about this! :) Anyhoo, prayers for the month of April, please! And especially for that paper that will soon swallow me whole! :D Thank you very muchly! :D and thanks also for being such faithful readers, reviewers, favers and all that jazz! :D you guys are awesome, and I'm glad you've stuck with me and these kiddos for so long! :D God bless each and every one of you! :D see ya'll again in May! :D

P.S. This is the start of a two-shot, so not that long! :D yay! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

It was approaching midnight. Or at least, she assumed it was. She had stopped looking at the clock hours ago. The reminder of passing time only made her more anxious. She did not need another reason to be anxious.

The sixteen year-old princess of Corona sighed, flipping through the pages of her geometry textbook. She still had five more chapters to review before heading off to bed. And then she would spend the rest of the night dreaming about squares and theorems and how to correctly calculate a circle, semi-circle, and even non-circles. Her brain had been swimming in letters and numbers for the past two days. But now—_right_ now—was the crucial moment. She _needed_ to pass this test. She _needed_ to do well.

She _needed_ to sleep…

Annabelle jerked upright, suddenly realizing that she had been using her math notes as a pillow.

"Oh no. Oh no-no-no-no!" She hastily searched for her pencil, shifting aside papers and textbooks and Tutor Reynold's (he was subbing for Perry while the latter vacationed on the peninsula) extensive, long-winded write-ups of what she had done wrong on the last exam. Annabelle abandoned her fruitless desk search and instead got onto her hands and knees, crawling around on the hard floor of the library. She emerged, victorious and slightly disheveled, from beneath her desk. Rubbing her head from where she had bumped it twice against the table's underside, the girl plopped back down into her chair.

Annabelle began tracing out a square, mentally adding up the sides and wondering if she could somehow use that information to calculate the volume of a cube like the problem required. A dull buzzing filled her ears, and the girl stared dismally at the guttering candles sitting on her desk. Each one had melted down to short, depressing stubs. Their flames gave off only so much light, and the rest of the library—the many bookcases and tables and chairs—remained in deep darkness. She could not even see the windows because of the shelves.

Then she checked her answer against the one in the book. It was wrong, _again_, and Reynold's annoying voice seemed to whisper softly: 'You've multiplied incorrectly, Princess Annabelle. Tut, tut, tut…'.

Growling in frustration, Annabelle tore up her feeble excuse for an answer and crumpled it into a ball, chucking it as far away as she could. She glared at the pitiful lump, resolved to do nothing more than wish it to a fiery death. But then she remembered who would be responsible for cleaning the library, and Annabelle quickly snatched up the paper and returned to her seat.

She tried to do the problem again, but the numbers slid from her mind as her thoughts slowly thoughts drifted to a more pleasant subject—the libarian's assistant.

Stanley Isaacs was almost eighteen now, and was as tall and as handsome as ever. Her friend Harriet of Orae said that he was too skinny, but Annabelle liked him that way. She also liked his short, red hair—and the way his blue eyes were so serious when he worked—and how he was always so kind and patient with her brother and sister even when they asked him stupid questions. And how he was so smart. How he understood and spoke literature in a way she had never heard anyone else explain it. And how he had that one, special smile reserved just for her…

"Annie?"

Annabelle jumped, knocking her textbook from the table as she tried to keep herself from falling out of her chair.

Stanley picked up the textbook, apologizing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I—I'm not scared. You just startled me." She murmured, looking around. "It's so quiet in here most of the time."

"Right." Stanley grinned, setting the book back onto her desk. "Especially when it's twelve-thirty at night."

"It's twelve-thirty?"

"Was when I stopped working a few minutes ago." He nodded back to where the library workroom lay. "I just finished fixing those antique manuscripts your grandmother brought in yesterday."

She could tell. The young man had his sleeves rolled up, and he smelled wonderfully of glue and old leather.

Unaware of his friend's perceptive eyes, Stanley asked, "Anyway, what are you doing here this late?"

Annabelle shrugged, trying to be as vague as possible. "Just—working."

He took a second glance at the geometry book and moaned. "You've got to be kidding me! You're _still_ studying for that math test?"

"Well—yes I am." Annabelle replied defensively, retrieving a fresh sheet of paper. "It's important and I have to do well."

"Annie, you've been at this for almost a week. You don't need to study anymore and certainly not until two in the morning."

"That was only _one_ time, and I needed to pass that exam."

"You need to pass all your exams." He said dryly.

Annabelle nodded, "Exactly."

Stanley shook his head, pulling up a chair and sitting down backwards with the chair's back against his chest. He set his arms over its top, gesturing at the desk full of scribbled papers. "Your workspace, I presume?"

"Really more like my prison cell." Annabelle muttered, opening her textbook again. "I haven't left since dinner."

"That was six hours ago."

"I have a lot to study." She retorted, starting another problem.

He poked her in the shoulder, "_You_ need to go to bed."

"Stan, leave me alone."

He poked her again, "You need to sleep."

"_Stan_."

"You are-." He stopped, watching as she wrote across the paper. Without a word he unexpectedly took the parchment away from her.

"Hey!" Annabelle reached for her paper, but he leaned back.

"What is this?"

She frowned, "I—it—it's a question about how much space a farmer needs to plow a sixty by eighty-foot field."

"You're drawing a circle." Stanley said, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"It's a circular field."

He looked at her, "Annie."

"Look, I don't know—okay, Stan? I've been doing problems since forever and I just want to-," she set her head in her arms, mumbling, "-die and be done with it."

Stanley sighed, fighting against the urge to hug her. It would not be proper, and she did not need a hug. She needed help with math.

"How many problems do you have left?"

She gave a muffled: "Five."

"Okay, we can just-."

"I mean fifty-five."

Stanley raised his eyebrows in surprise. He cleared his throat, "Um, all right. We can—how about we just do one instead? Just one and then you can go to sleep."

Annabelle shook her head, slowly sitting up, "I can't do just one…"

"Annie, one more problem, then you're going to bed even if I have to get a guard to take you."

She glanced at him, saw that he was being dead-serious, and relented. "Fine."

"Good. Now why don't you try-," The young man reached across and flipped a few pages in her textbook, "-that one."

Annabelle pointed at the page, "This one?"

"Yep."

"That one—right there?"

He nodded, "Yes."

She sighed and started to read the problem, saying, "Sometimes I really hate you, Stan."

"At least it's only sometimes." He replied cheerfully, watching her.

Though she did not realize it, Annabelle had a certain tilt to her chin whenever she concentrated on something. It was, of course, adorable to anybody who cared about her. And the libarian's assistant cared about her a lot. So he quite enjoyed watching her work, even if the familiar brown eyes were tired and she seemed ready to collapse at the table. But she was still pretty. Always pretty.

Annabelle sat back, pushing the paper over to him. "Okay. Did I get it?"

He examined her answer in contrast with the book's. "Well you—you _almost_ got it."

"Argh!" She pounded her forehead in frustration. "Why? _Why_ can't I get this? Why do I even have to do this? What does being a princess have to do with understanding geometry? For goodness sake, _Tom's_ going to be the one on the throne! Why do I have to know this?"

Stanley set his hand on her shoulder, trying to cut down the tirade. "Annie just—just calm down. Look-," he gently took the pencil from her and indicated a line of her math work, "-you just mixed up a few numbers, that's all."

Annabelle made a noise that sounded somewhat like a whimper.

He smiled sympathetically, "It's okay. Here—I'll go through it and then you can try again."

She gazed at Stanley as he set about lining up numbers across the top of the sheet. He wrote in a steady hand—firm and sure—rounding his twos and fives perfectly. _No one_ else in the world could make twos and fives like he could. And then he began to work on the problem itself, using the data he had already recorded and inserting it into the neatly-scripted formula. Annabelle watched the candlelight reflected in the curve of his glasses, studying the face of the boy she had considered her best friend since she was seven. The narrow nose, stern cheekbones, and perfectly taut chin were as familiar as the back of her hand. The passing years had changed him slightly—made him older—but he was still Stanley Isaacs. And he was amazing.

"There." Stanley straightened, running a finger along his work. "If you don't forget to add in the ratio of the square, and remember which number goes in the denominator, you'll get the right answer." He looked up at her and tapped his spectacles, "Believe it or not, Annie, it's not just the glasses. I'm actually smart, too."

Annabelle stared at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she suddenly seized Stanley by his shirt, yanked him forward so that his chair rose up on two legs, and kissed him as if she had been dying to do it for the last few years. Matter of fact—she had been.

About five, maybe ten seconds passed as the princess of Corona kissed the librarian's assistant. Five to ten, frantic seconds' worth of unresolved attraction rather rapidly and enthusiastically getting resolved. Very enthusiastically. Some might even say passionately, but only just.

Then abruptly, Annabelle released him. She was shocked, utterly dismayed at what had just happened. She had not meant to do that. Not—not like _that_.

"Um…" Stanley said, apparently stunned with his glasses askew and his eyes wide.

Annabelle let out a high-pitched, nervous squeak of fear and bolted for the doors, leaving Stanley alone in the library.

A small grin crept across Stanley's face, and he adjusted his glasses more securely on his nose. He made a mental promise to himself to help the princess study math more often. And then he noticed that Annabelle had left her geometry book along with a pile of notes and paper.

He could take it to her tomorrow—right before her exam started.

Then he would have to have a word with the prince consort.

* * *

"Eugene."

Someone was poking him in the back. However, since he knew exactly who that 'someone' was, the prince consort chose to ignore the prodding.

"Eugene—wake up."

More poking. Did she _really_ have to do this so late at night?

"Don't make me get Pascal."

Eugene's eyes popped open, and he slowly rolled over to look accusatorily at his wife. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Rapunzel smirked, triumphant at last.

Her husband let out a low moan and placed his hand over his eyes, muttering, "What is it, dear? Why did you wake me up?"

"I'm hungry." She said, setting her head against his shoulder.

"We just ate dinner."

"That was yesterday." Rapunzel replied.

"Then wait until breakfast."

"All I want is a bowl of cereal." He could almost hear the pout in her voice.

"Yeah, well, all I want is to toss a few sheep over the proverbial fence, but clearly, that's not what I'm going to get tonight."

His wife sat up slightly, "What?"

"Rapunzel, go back to bed. I'm sure you're not _that_ hungry." Eugene rolled over, intent on returning to his slumber.

Rapunzel played with his sleeve, "_Eugene_. Please? For me?"

"No."

"Please?" She begged, squeezing his arm slightly. "It's just a short trip."

Eugene shook his head, responding, "Dear, you've got a pair of perfectly good-looking legs that can take you all the way down to the kitchens and to your bowl of cereal."

"I also have a perfectly good-looking husband who can go to the kitchens for me." Rapunzel whispered into his ear.

He agreed, "Yes, you do. But right now, your perfectly good-looking husband is going to sleep."

"Eugene please, please, puh-_lease_?"

"Now you sound like Ginger-snap."

Rapunzel propped herself up on her elbow, gazing at her husband's dark form. "You're not going to go, are you?"

"Nope."

"Okay." She sounded resigned to her fate. "I'll just go myself."

"Atta girl." He mumbled sleepily.

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, already sliding out of bed. "Thanks."

"Shhh… I'm sleeping."

The lost princess ignored him and began to pull on her bathrobe. She also added a few remarks, speaking loud enough so her 'slumbering' husband could hear them.

"After sixteen wonderful years of marriage—three beautiful children—_and_ keeping my dad true to his pardon-," she tied the robe tightly about herself, muttering, "-not to mention-," she reached into her pocket and withdrew the lump she knew was her chameleon, "-willingly suspending work anytime he wanted a vacation—and being practically gorgeous in every way!"

Eugene snorted, trying to keep himself from laughing.

"You would think-," Rapunzel glanced at Pascal, who had already climbed up to her shoulder, "-that a simple bowl of cereal wouldn't be too much to ask."

Pascal squibbered in agreement.

"That's mutiny, Pascal." Eugene declared.

Rapunzel smirked, "Oh, you know he's never been on your side."

Her husband raised his touseled head, "Do you _really_ want me to get you cereal?"

"No." Her smile broadened as she lit a candle. "But thank you for asking."

"Goodnight, Rapunzel."

"I'll be back soon." She quietly opened the hallway door, and went out.

* * *

"I suppose he's right, Pascal." Rapunzel said, walking down the long corridor, her bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. "And he _does_ have a bit of work to do tomorrow."

Her chameleon nodded, sniffing hopefully at the air.

She smiled and moved her candle away from herself, "Too much smoke, Pascal?"

Pascal shrugged slightly.

"Well, maybe if Eugene is lucky, I'll bring him something to eat as well."

Pascal gave her a doubtful expression.

Rapunzel arched an eyebrow, "Yes, I know that's too good for him. But he's Eugene and I love him, so I'll probably find a danish or something."

Her chameleon let out a faint, inquisitive rumble.

"Don't worry, I'll find you a danish too."

Pascal looked pleased.

Rapunzel laughed, "You're welcome. Now, it's just one more corner and then-," she frowned at the light spilling out from the kitchen door. "Who on earth is up at this hour?" Suddenly, Rapunzel caught a waft of a warm, chocolate something. Then, immediately after, the smell changed to cinnamon and then to a thick, sugary coconut.

Uncertainly, Rapunzel entered the palace kitchens.

It was as if she had walked into a bakery shop.

Just at her left elbow, arrayed out on the counter, were plates and plates of cookies. All kinds of cookies—chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, butter-pecan, raspberry jelly, mint, nutmeg, and even super cocoa chunk. And then on the shelf above the counter, where formerly had been several pots, was a batch of cupcakes, already frosted with various hues of pinks, blues, and greens. On the other counter sat a half-finished three-layer cake, most of its sides and top smeared over with chocolate icing. Next to it was a pineapple upside-down cake, round pineapple slices each bedecked with a bright-red candied cherry. Then next to that cake was a mixing bowl of more batter, along with a host of ingredients such as sugar, flour, a nearly empty carton of eggs, and coconut shavings.

Rapunzel slowly trotted forward, seeing a fresh pan of danishes, all of them already sprinkled with glaze and honey, resting on the long table in the middle of the kitchen. The pan sitting beside it had neat, tight little dough balls—peanut butter, she thought—resting carefully spaced across its surface. A platter of powdered lemon bars sat next to another dish of tiny donuts. And there also seemed to be another cake in progress, since one layer was already sitting on the cooling rack. But there was more: a fresh loaf of raisin bread perched on a cutting board; a pan of banana muffins stood beside it; another set of blueberry muffins were already displayed prettily on a plate; and a pie—a full-blown apple pie complete with cinnamon topping and golden-delicious filling—teetered on the edge of the table.

She quickly moved forward to rescue the pie, and had just found a safer place for it when a hurried shout of "Sorry, Mom, got to get these onto a rack!" made her jump out of the way.

Annabelle, flour-streaked and frizzy-haired, ran past her mother, yet another pan of cookies in her arms. She began piling cookies next to the waiting cake layer, her hand rapidly moving from pan to rack. Finished, she set the pan aside and headed over to the counter to continue stirring whatever batter was in the mixing bowl.

"Um, Annie?" Rapunzel joined her daughter, watching in bewilderment as Annabelle cracked two eggs into the mix. "Sweetie, what are you doing?"

Annabelle shook her head, slamming her spatula against the sides of the bowl. "Got to finish mixing this up before the cinnamon buns finish. There's also a coffee cake in the oven—need to hurry or it'll burn."

"Annie—Annie what-?"

"No time to talk, Mom!" She said briskly, leaving the bowl and picking up her knife to start frosting the cake again.

"But-." Rapunzel tried setting her hand on her daughter's arm.

Within a second, however, Annabelle had abandoned the cake to pick up the pan of dough balls. "I completely forgot about these."

"Annie." Rapunzel took her by the shoulders.

"Not now, Mom, I've got to-."

"Annabelle!"

The girl stared at her for a long moment, breathing hard, her cheeks pink under the white flour. She seemed momentarily petrified, a thousand thoughts and ideas coursing through her mind. But with a deafening clatter, the pan had fallen to the kitchen tile, and Annabelle buried herself in her mother's arms, crying.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Rapunzel asked, stroking her daughter's hair and showering flour onto the floor.

There were tearful mumbles, but none of them were very decipherable.

Rapunzel ran the past week over in her mind, trying to figure out where all this pent-up emotion had stemmed from. Only one thing stuck out, and she guessed, "Is this about that math test?"

Annabelle merely cried harder, shaking as tears fell from her eyes. Clearly she was quite upset. It had been at least a full two years since Annabelle had cried this hard. But a math test?

"Oh, Annie. My sweet, sweet little girl." Her mother shook her head, murmuring, "Don't worry about it. I'll have Tutor Reynolds move the exam if you need-."

"It—it's n-not about the m-math test…" Annabelle sniffled, glancing at her mother.

"Then what-," she recognized the look in her daughter's eyes, and Rapunzel sighed, "-oh. So it's _that_, then. Don't worry, dear." She held the girl closer and began to rub her back reassuringly.

"M-mom?" Annabelle asked after a minute's near silence.

"Yes, dear?"

"I left some stuff in the ovens."

"Okay. Well, just-," Rapunzel walked her over to a stool and sat her down, "-stay here for a minute and I'll take care of it."

She went over to the ovens, carefully removing the hot pans and setting them down either on the stove-top or, depending on the quality of the baked goods, in the sink. Then she raked the fires down to embers, and returned to find Annabelle wiping at her face while Pascal soothingly patted her elbow.

"All right." Rapunzel said bracingly, pulling up a stool of her own and sitting down. She took her daughter's hand in hers, squeezing it comfortingly. "Now, what happened?"

She hiccupped, replying nervously, "I—I can't tell you."

Rapunzel smiled, "Annie, you've baked half the kitchens' dessert supplies for a month. What's going on?"

Annabelle took a deep breath, closing her eyes, "Mom, I really don't-."

"Annie."

She nodded, "Okay. Okay, I'll—I'll tell you."

Rapunzel waited for her daughter to take a second to compose herself. Annabelle gulped and attempted to wipe the flour from her face. Then she said, "I—I was in the library studying for my geometry test."

"I gathered that."

"And then St—Stan came over to help. He was very nice."

"He's always nice."

"I know." Annabelle said sadly. "He's so kind and smart and—and he was helping me with math and you _know_ how much I hate math."

Rapunzel smirked, nodding, "Almost as much as your grandfather does."

"Yeah. And Tutor Reynolds is so boring _and_ conceited. He just knows _so_ much and expects me to know it too—but I can't possibly know that much! And I don't even know why I have to learn geometry anyway and-."

"Annie, you're getting off topic."

"Oh—sorry." The girl apologized sheepishly.

"It's okay, dear. Now-," Rapunzel gently tucked a piece of hair behind her daughter's ear, "-what happened with Stan?"

Annabelle bit her lip, "I—I kind-of…"

"Hmm?"

"Oh, Mom!" She burst into tears again, crying, "I _attacked_ him!"

Rapunzel frowned, "You did what?"

"I kissed him—right on the mouth! I didn't even know what I was doing! I just sort-of did it! And now I can never see him again!"

She sighed, correcting, "That's not true."

"And I can never go to the library again and I _love_ the library!" Annabelle said in deep despair. "I have to move to Auxuria or Pharx—doesn't matter as long as it's far away!" She looked at her mother, asking, "Will you help me pack?"

"You're not moving anywhere." Rapunzel said calmly.

Annabelle shook her head, "But I can't be here with him—not after what I've done."

Rapunzel smiled, "You didn't do anything wrong, Annie. There's nothing bad about a first kiss."

"Oh no! I didn't even think about that! Mom-," she exclaimed dramatically, "I _completely_ ruined my first kiss!"

Her mother narrowed her eyes, "No, you didn't."

Annabelle gazed at her, lower lip trembling.

Rapunzel sighed and held out her arms, "Come here."

The girl hugged her again, sniffing miserably. Rapunzel glanced around at all the baked goods her daughter had created. She knew Annabelle tended to bake when anxious, but this was a tad ridiculous. However, she also knew—as she had always known—out of her three children, Annabelle would be the one to have a panic/sobbing attack about kissing what could be her future spouse. Thomas would probably resolve to keep the secret to his grave, and Ginger would be so happy she would crow it from the rooftops. Annabelle, on the other hand, was a different matter.

"He just-," Annabelle mumbled, staring at a nearby tin of brownies, "-he just sat there—staring at me as if he couldn't think anymore. And he's my best friend, Mom. You don't go about kissing your best friend."

Rapunzel raised her eyebrows, "I thought we already had this talk. Didn't I tell you it was all right to like him?"

"'Liking him' is a bit different than sucking his face off." She replied sarcastically.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"Well, I—I guess the few seconds when I didn't realize what was happening, I was happy." Annabelle admitted.

Her mother tilted her head, "Well—that—that's good, dear."

It was a few moments before Annabelle spoke again. "Mom… what can I do now? How will I ever face him?"

Rapunzel shrugged, "You'll manage. And truth be told, dear, I'm surprised you waited this long."

"What?" Annabelle glanced up at her mother, confused.

She smiled at her, "Sweetie, you're sixteen years old. You've liked Stan for a very long time. Maybe now you can take your relationship to the next level?"

"But I don't know how-."

"You've already started it, Annie. Kissing Stan showed him that you're ready for something more intimate and I'm sure he will respond."

"'Intimate'?" The word seemed unusually charged with meaning. Exciting but—also quite unnerving at the same time.

Rapunzel softly slid her hand under her daughter's chin, causing Annabelle to look at her. "Yes. You're reaching that stage of life now when you'll be learning how to have more—shall we say—adult relationships."

"'Adult'?" Somehow that word sounded even more exciting and dangerous.

"To a certain extent, yes. But right now, what you really need to know is that everything will be all right. You haven't done anything wrong. You don't have to leave the country. And you've just kissed your best friend and you should be happy about it." Rapunzel smiled, asking, "You _are_ happy, aren't you?"

She hesitated before nodding slowly, "I—I think so."

"Think so or know so?"

Annabelle took a deep breath, deciding, "I _am_ happy." A little grin crossed her face, "I just kissed Stan."

Rapunzel nodded, "Good. Now, I think you should go to bed."

"But what about—what do I tell him?"

"Let him do the talking, dear. That's usually the best thing to do—or at least it was with your father."

Annabelle's eyes suddenly widened. "Dad."

"Yes, I remember when he-."

"Dad's going to kill Stan."

"Annie-."

Annabelle got to her feet, murmuring quickly, "I've got to warn him—he has to leave the country! Do you think Auxuria's far enough? Maybe if he wore a fake mustache and kept a guard dog and-."

Rapunzel interrupted, "Hey, don't worry about your father, all right? I'll take care of everything and Stan will still be very much alive and healthy tomorrow morning. Though, considering the time, it would be _this_ morning."

"What time is it?"

"Three-ish, I think. Tell you what, dear. I'll have your math exam rescheduled for later in the day and you can sleep in as long as you need to." She saw the butter grease and batter still stuck to her daughter's arms, and added, "Though you might want a bath first."

The girl nodded, "Okay. Um—and the kitchen?"

In the corner, a poorly-balanced pan of blondie squares decided to tumble off the counter with a crash.

Rapunzel winced, "I'll take care of it."

Annabelle hugged her again, saying quietly, "Thanks, Mom."

She kissed her on the top of her head, "I love you, Annie."

"I love you too."

Her mother smiled, "You'll be fine—everything will be all right—tonight is a good night. And whatever you do, don't worry about your father. _I'll_ handle him."

Annabelle laughed slightly, and then spotted something green lying on the counter next to her. She gasped, "Pascal!"

Rapunzel looked down and groaned, "Oh no… Pascal how could you?"

The little chameleon was sprawled on his back amid a pile of crumbs. He was snoozing peacefully, front feet rubbing a rather ample belly. He had eaten an entire muffin.

The lost princess stroked Pascal's tiny head, asking quietly, "What kind of muffin was this?"

"Lemon poppy-seed." Annabelle whispered, listening to the chameleon's snores.

Rapunzel sighed, "Oh dear. Well—at least he'll sleep tonight."

* * *

Eugene looked up as his wife entered their bedroom, "Ah, so the lost princess returns without any help from her handsome thief. And did you-?" he frowned, noticing the platter of baked goods in her hands. "Okay, that's it, you're amazing."

Rapunzel smiled, "Thank you, but why?"

"You were gone for barely fifteen minutes—how on earth did you make that many cookies and brownies and—and—are those _snickerdoodles_?" Eugene raised his eyebrows, a grin crossing his face.

She nodded, "Yes, they are."

"Rapunzel, may I just say you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and I just want to express how much I deeply love and adore every single-."

"Go ahead." His wife scooted the plate of desserts across the quilt. "There's plenty."

"Thank you, my sweet, sweet, _oh_-so sweet wife." Eugene immediately selected a particularly large cookie, licking his lips.

Rapunzel turned to her dresser and set the candle down.

"I've got to tell you-," Eugene took a bite of the cookie, talking between mouthfuls, "-jou are one ah gah mowst ahmazang wahgmehn in gah wor'."

Rapunzel closed her eyes. _Three_-.

He swallowed, and immediately picked up another cookie. "Seriously, I don't think anyone could be as awesome as you are."

_Two_-.

"Ah mean _snickahdoogles_—righ?"

_One_…

"Hah mahny guys cahn sah thah-." Eugene stopped, staring at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. He slowly turned his face upwards to find that his wife was smiling at him. Swallowing the cookie in his mouth, Eugene asked quietly, "What is Annie doing down in the kitchens at this hour? She made these cookies—I can tell. She always puts too much cinnamon on 'em."

Rapunzel shrugged, sliding onto the bed, "Well, Eugene, she um—she was-."

"She always bakes when she's upset about something. I remember that one time we ended up with three different cakes because she got a B on a history exam." Eugene gazed at his wife in deep concern. "Rapunzel, what happened? Is she all right?"

Rapunzel sighed, "Do you remember that she has a math test today?"

Eugene's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, and he growled: "_Reynolds_."

"Well, he _is_ administering it but-."

"I knew he would be too difficult for her! For goodness sake, the guy thinks everyone should be a genius! And he has a streak of meanness that beats the pants off of any schoolmaster I ever had!"

Rapunzel rolled her eyes, "You never had a schoolmaster."

"Doesn't matter. Oh, if I could just get my hands around that scrawny apple-core of a neck I would-!"

"Eugene, Tutor Reynolds has nothing to do with it."

Ignoring his wife, Eugene plowed on, "For just once you'd think he'd show a little bit of compassion. I mean, Annie is the kindest, gentlest girl in the world and she in no way deserves-."

"Eugene-," Rapunzel grabbed his arm, frowning at him sternly, "-Tutor Reynolds has done nothing more than his job. He's not the reason we now have half a bakeshop downstairs."

He gave a curt nod. "Okay. Okay—then what is? Is Annie all right?"

"She's fine. I've already smoothed things over and she's gone to bed now."

"And what about that math exam?"

"She'll take it late this afternoon when she's ready."

"And why was she baking like your mother does when your dad threatens to shave off his beard?" Eugene asked carefully.

Rapunzel took a deep breath, "Well—because something really, really wonderful happened tonight."

"Yes?"

"Something that—that—you should be happy about."

"_Ye-es_?"

"Something that means a lot and—and-," Rapunzel threw up her hands, "-oh, I give up. Annie kissed Stan."

Eugene stared at her for a full three seconds before immediately rising to his feet and striding to the door.

"Eugene, wait-."

He shook his head, "No way. No way. NO WAY am I waiting! That book-toting punk kissed my daughter and now he's going to fulfill a long-held desire to be a greasy spot on the floor!" Eugene turned around, stamping his foot for emphasis.

Rapunzel groaned, "Did you even hear what I just said?"

"Yes, you said 'Annie' and 'kiss' and 'Stan', and none of those words should ever be in the same sentence!" He declared, vehemently making a slashing movement with his right hand.

"Yes, exactly, _Annie_ kissed Stan."

He nodded, "I know. And now I'm going to kill him."

"Eugene—_Annie_ kissed-."

"How many times are you going to say that horrible sentence?" Eugene asked, pained.

Rapunzel cleared her throat, "Listen to me: your daughter kissed the librarian's assistant. _She_ kissed him. _She_ did it, Eugene—Stan was just an innocent beneficiary."

He snorted disbelievingly, "_Innocent_."

"Yes. He did nothing wrong. And neither did she."

Eugene took a deep breath, and then cocked his head slightly. "You're—so—so you're saying that our daughter—_our_ Annie… she started it?"

His wife smiled, "And finished it too, I think. Though it was a little hard to tell what she was saying with all the crying."

"So she-," a faintly proud expression appeared on his face, "-she kissed him, eh? Knocked him flat?"

"Well, from what she said he was quite surprised." Rapunzel answered, trying to figure out why he was smiling.

Eugene let out a little laugh, "Heh. Imagine that. She ah—she surprised him?"

"Yes, dear. Why do you find that so funny?"

He glanced at her, his grin widening, "She stole his thunder."

"What?"

"You know—'his thunder'—the boy lost his manliness because _she_ made the first move."

Rapunzel smiled slyly, "Oh, that's right."

"See? Ha!" He pumped his fist joyfully, laughing. "Annie, Annie, Annie—you are most definitely, your-."

"Mother's daughter?" She cut in.

He shook his head, "Well, I was going to say father because-."

"If I remember correctly, Eugene-," Rapunzel interrupted, casually tapping her chin, "-didn't I steal _your_ thunder?"

Eugene froze mid-victory dance. He opened his mouth somewhat, replying hoarsely, "Can't remember."

"Really? Because I certainly can and, if I may say so, _I_ kissed you first." She smirked at him.

Her husband sighed and bowed his head, "Yeah, I know."

"So you can't really laugh about Stan, can you?"

"Guess not." He muttered.

Rapunzel patted the bed, "Come and sit down, dear. You're not going to go kill anybody tonight."

"What about tomorrow?" Eugene asked, obediently returning to his wife's side.

"No, Eugene."

He pursed his lips, gazing at the far wall. "You know, it really isn't that de-manning. Her kissing him first."

"Oh really?" She asked archly.

"Yeah—it's just-," he shrugged, glancing away, "-something that happens."

Rapunzel laughed and began to rub his shoulders, "Chance phenomenon, right?"

"Yep." He grinned at her.

His wife smiled and leaned forward, slipping her arms about his neck and hugging him. She then sighed and murmured into his shoulder: "You _do_ know Stan's going to come talk to you tomorrow, right?"

"Not necessarily."

"Eugene, _please_. You know how much he's liked her _and_ for how long. Trust me—you were getting suspicious when he was nine."

"Well, he was quite a sneaky little-," Eugene stopped at her expression, "-right."

"But now he's practically eighteen, Annie is sixteen, and he will probably be knocking on your office door tomorrow afternoon." His wife kissed his cheek, whispering, "All I'm saying is be nice."

He frowned, "Do I _have_ to say yes? I mean—don't you think sixteen is a little young to start courting?"

"Would you rather have them running around behind your back sneaking kisses and 'sweet nothings' and-?"

"Sixteen's not bad."

Rapunzel smiled, shaking her head, "Nope. No, it isn't. But you know Annie would never do anything like that."

Her husband replied, "Considering she freaked out over kissing him tonight, probably not. But—she _is_ old enough now, I suppose…"

"And?"

"And I promise to not do anything stupid tomorrow."

"And?"

"He'll live."

She raised an eyebrow.

"He'll still have all his limbs, don't worry. If you want I'll even get Thomas to handcuff me to my chair." Eugene offered.

Rapunzel's green eyes brightened, "Tom would like that."

"Yeah. So-," He looked at her, "-bedtime?"

"Will you be all right?"

He shrugged, "Hey, like you said, Annie's old enough now. _And_, what's more, I really have nothing to worry about."

"Do you want another snickerdoodle?" Rapunzel asked, already holding one out to him.

Eugene let out a sad sigh. "Please."

Chewing thoughtfully, the prince consort watched as his wife withdrew a round little chameleon from her bathrobe pocket. He pointed, "Wah happened tah gah frog?"

"He ate a little too much, that's all."

"Hmm-," Eugene looked at the plate of baked goods, "-not such a bad idea, eating yourself to unconsciousness. Maybe I'll forget everything that's happened tonight."

"I highly doubt that."

"Yeah… Rapunzel?"

"Mmm?" She had already lay down, her eyes closed.

"Do you think she's ready for this?"

"I do. But the real question is, are _you_ ready for this, Eugene?"

"I don't know."

She took his hand, and somehow that made him feel better.

* * *

_Wow, those folks sure talk a lot, don't they? :) hope you enjoyed it! :D_


	27. Late night chat intermission

**Author Note**: Very short shot this time, ya'll. It's not part of the two-parter I promised you-sorry-but I've been having trouble with that one so I decided to write up something to clear my head a bit, and this is the result. Hope you don't mind the extra-long wait I've been giving you, but I must say, I'm am definitely happy to be done with school for the summer! Yay! More time for writing-at least until classes start up again at the end of May-but they shouldn't be hard classes, and there's only two of them so hopefully I'll be able to update more often. Anyhoo, I promise I'll get back to the two-parter eventually, but I hope you don't mind accepting this as a peace-offering. :D

P.S. Happy Belated Mother's Day to all you awesome moms out there! This one's for you! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

The script from yesterday's meeting with her father's council was almost illegible. There were streaks across its surface—someone had evidently been dozing and his hand had dragged—and the edges were crumpled as if the report had been badly folded twice. Rapunzel sighed, trying to understand what the Duke of Calscon had been saying. Something about… the boundaries of his realm having to be extended? And what had the Baron of Sarphona said? That the boundaries were large enough and that the extra land gained in the recent treaty with Salisbury should be given instead to—but that did not make any sense! Besides, she had been at that meeting and there had been no land discussion except about the constant bickering over the border of the Midlands—and that was foreign policy….

The lost princess checked the date again, finding the report to be very old indeed. Why—almost none of the names were correct! How on earth did this old report get in a stack of new ones? She would have to have a word with the clerks—they needed to keep a tidier office.

"Eugene, how are you doing?" She asked, setting aside the old report and picking up another from her pile. "Did you manage to get through those treasury accounts yet? Dad said they weren't-." She suddenly realized she was hearing a loud snoring.

Rapunzel glanced over at her husband. He had, during the last several minutes, slipped lower and lower in bed until he was completely horizontal. Now he had his face turned away from the candlelight and a report resting, unopened, on his chest.

She smiled slightly and retrieved the forgotten report, "Thanks for helping me finish sorting through the reports, Eugene."

Eugene murmured something, but he did not wake.

Rapunzel shook her head and returned to the papers in her hand. Usually she and Eugene tried to keep work back at the office or, at the very least, the dinner table. But as of late, the paperwork had been overflowing, _and_ they had also been conducting the yearly inventory. There was so much to do with running a country… legal problems, people problems, and taxes. How she detested tax work—or anything to do with money, really. Her husband generally handled the money and trade, both foreign and domestic. She tried to deal solely with internal matters such as enforcing the laws and maintaining property rights. Oftentimes, however, they exchanged jobs whenever the problem strayed over to other areas of government.

She let out a yawn. Tiredness was creeping over her. Perhaps she should save the remainder for tomorrow and just—was that knocking?

Rapunzel stared at the door to the sitting room. The knocking had stopped now, but the doorknob was wiggling.

Then, the door opened slightly, and her eight year-old son stuck his tousled head out from behind it.

Thomas glanced around, spotting her. "Mom?"

Rapunzel frowned, "Are you okay, sweetie? Why are you awake?"

He shrugged, coming further into the room. "Couldn't sleep."

"Are you feeling sick or was it a bad dream?"

"Nothing like that. It's just—my mind won't shut up…"

She nodded, "Ah."

"Can I come in?" He asked uncertainly, glancing at his snoozing father.

"Of course you can." Rapunzel replied, removing the reports from the bed and setting them on the floor.

Thomas walked over to the bed, squinting as he got used to the light. Then he clambered up to sit in front of his mother.

Rapunzel instinctively reached out to smooth his hair back, and found that it was damp. She commented, "Someone made sure you took a bath tonight."

"Annie told me to." He explained, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his father.

"Good for her."

He poked at the quilt, "She's awfully bossy."

Rapunzel smiled, "That's what older sisters do—boss you around and make sure you're taken care of."

"I still wish she wasn't so bossy." Thomas muttered resentfully.

His mother's smile widened, "I know."

He sighed and slumped out onto his stomach, still scrunching up the blanket in his hands. Rapunzel watched him, knowing full well he wanted to say something but that he had not yet formed how he wanted to say it.

"So-," she started, carefully adjusting her son's bangs, "-what are you thinking about?"

"Stuff."

"Hmm… interesting stuff?"

"Guess so."

She continued to run her fingers through his hair, waiting.

Finally Thomas mumbled, "Ruling."

"Hmm?"

"I'm thinking about ruling." He rolled over onto his back, looking up at her upside down. "Is it hard?"

"It can be hard." Rapunzel said, noticing that his pajama shirt had ridden up and his stomach, complete with belly button, was poking out.

"Do you like it?"

She nodded, smiling slightly, "Most of the time."

"Does Dad like it?"

Rapunzel glanced over at her sleeping husband. "He doesn't exactly 'rule', dear. He helps—but your grandfather and I have the final say."

"What about Papa? Does he like it?"

"I think so. He always says he loves his job and wouldn't trade it for any other job in the world."

"Is it really that great?"

Rapunzel shrugged, "The work itself is not much fun. In fact, it can get rather boring with the number of papers we have to read and bills we have to sign. Most of the time, you're stuck at a desk all day, reading and writing and making sure that everything is running smoothly."

"That _does_ sound boring." Thomas declared, his voice dull.

"Yes, but the rewards are nice."

"The money?" He brightened.

Rapunzel shook her head,"No, not the money. Nor is it the power, unlike what some rulers believe."

"Then what is it?" The boy asked curiously.

"Seeing that the kingdom is protected and prosperous. And, in so many years, you'll know how that feels like as king."

Thomas went quiet for a moment, evidently mulling the whole concept over. Rapunzel knew that the 'king' thing bothered him. It had bothered _her_ during her first year back, having to deal with the idea that one day she would be given responsibility for thousands of people. She had to cope with not only adjusting to life in the palace but also life as a royal and the power that came with the role. Her son had been born into the position, just as she had—but Thomas had been given the expectation years in advance and she knew it wore down on him if he thought about it too much.

Clearly, he had been thinking about it too much, because his response was far from optimistic. "I don't think I can do it."

"Do what?" She asked, knowing perfectly well what he was talking about.

"Rule." He stared at the ceiling. "I just—I don't think I know how."

"Good, because admitting that you don't know how is the first step. The next is just doing it—you don't think, you just do, and it will come naturally. You might make mistakes along the way, but you'll learn from them. Really, it's a lot like being part of a family, Tom. You work—and you work—and you work—all to make sure that someone else is happy. You pour your life into theirs and try your hardest to make sure that they succeed and have joy, simply because you love them so much."

"But I'm not related to anybody in the kingdom except for you and Dad and Annie and Gin' and Papa and Grandma." He pointed out, his eyes narrowing.

Rapunzel tilted her head, "Actually, you do have several second cousins and aunts and uncles around here, but really—you are related to everyone in the kingdom simply because you are Coronan. They are your people, Thomas, and you are their representative to the rest of the world. You take care of them. And they take care of you."

"But there's only one of me."

She assented, "Yes, but you have help. You have me, you have your father, you have your grandparents, and you have other people—the dukes, the councilmen, the other nobles. We all work together so that our families, and the families of those who have entrusted power to us, are safe and happy. We keep order in a chaotic world, and life goes on."

Thomas thought about what she had said, eventually deciding: "It still sounds like a lot of work."

Rapunzel laughed, "Oh, it _is_ a lot of work, trust me. But the work is worth it."

"Promise?" He looked up at her with brown eyes so like his father's.

"Yes, dear. I promise." She gave him a gentle tap on the nose, adding, "And I _never_ break my promises."

Thomas grinned, rolling back onto his front and looking up at his mother. She leaned back and patted her lap, "Come here, Tom."

He obeyed, snuggling up to his mother even as she wrapped her arms around him. Rapunzel rested her cheek against Thomas's head, whispering, "I suppose being crown prince is a lot to think about."

"Yeah." The boy agreed solemnly.

"I remember when we found out about you—Annie was five and your father and I had talked about having another kid. In fact-," she smirked slightly, "-he hoped you were a girl."

He frowned, perturbed, "Why did Dad want that?"

"He said that since we already had Annie, he knew how to deal with little girls. But you know what?"

"What?"

Rapunzel smiled at him, "I never told him this, but_ I_ wanted a little boy."

"Really?" Thomas asked, somehow surprised.

"Yep. And-," she kissed him on the top of his head, murmuring, "-my prayers were answered."

"Oh—good."

Rapunzel laughed and held him closer, sending an unspoken 'thank you' to her eldest for ensuring the boy had taken a bath that night.

Thomas sighed, but it was a happy sigh, and for a while both mother and son simply sat, listening to the crashing ocean intermixing with the prince consort's snores. It was not very often that Rapunzel got to focus on just one of her children, and she loved the occasions when she could. It is unnecessary to say that the feeling was mutual for each of her daughters and her son. Especially her son.

As the minutes passed on, however, so did the boy's stamina, and soon he had lapsed into a light doze. Rapunzel felt his breathing slow, and she wondered if he was asleep yet. But then he asked a very quiet question.

"Can you sing that song? The one about the flower?"

"Do you want me to?"

He nodded.

Rapunzel cleared her throat, and, drawing from memories—many, many memories—she started to sing in a soft, sweet voice.

"_Flower, gleam and glow; let your power shine; make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt; change the Fate's design; save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… what once was mine_."

Thomas had already fallen asleep by the time the song ended, and Rapunzel took a deep breath, gazing into the far corners of the room. Her son and husband were harmonizing in their snoring. It was amazing how much alike they were.

Rapunzel laid her hand on Eugene's wrist, and at her touch, he woke up.

"Mmm?" Eugene looked over at her, blinking sleepily in the candlelight. "What's he doing here?"

"He wanted to talk, that's all. Can you take him back to bed?"

Her husband yawned, sitting up, "Sure thing, dear." Eugene carefully lifted his son up into his arms, "I'll be back in a few seconds."

Rapunzel smiled, "Thank you."

He winked at her, and made his way over to the sitting room door. Rapunzel watched him go, her green eyes pensive.


	28. Snickerdoodle 2

**Author Note**: AHA! YAY! Got the two-parter up and done! Wahoo! :D haha anyhoo, hope you guys enjoy this one, as there are some VERY interesting things going on inside it. Thank you guys so much for all your kind reviews and for waiting and reading and faving and, aw, you know the rest! :D Hopefully I can get back to work on Royal Romance-the chapter for that one is going to be long, but entertaining, I hope! God bless and be with you all!

P.S. For those of you who have asked what's on Eugene's pocket watch, I honestly don't know. I didn't clarify it because I don't know WHAT Rapunzel would put on it-there are just too many choices. Maybe you guys can come up with something? I'm open to suggestions!

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Annabelle sat down on the bench across from her classroom, glancing around the empty hallway. The early afternoon sun came in through the open windows, shedding patches of light on the smooth, wooden floor. The ocean waves were still crashing and the sounds of the city rose up in a low, senseless murmur. A salty sea breeze stirred the long curtains, filling the corridor with the smell of late summer.

The girl set her back against the wall, staring at the door in front of her. It was closed and locked, indicating that Tutor Reynolds had not arrived yet. Nervously, Annabelle tapped her fingers against the notebook resting on her knees. It was a tempo she had learned for the piano, but her timing was impeccable, and with each beat she hummed the correct note to coincide. She had always been good at music. She _understood_ music. Math, on the other hand… that was a different matter.

Just like boys.

Annabelle studied the grain of the classroom door, her mind calling up all the memories of last night. There was Stanley—there was his stupidly handsome face—there were his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes… and then she was kissing him. And she knew what she had felt. His heartbeat—his breathing—the sensation of his mouth pressed against hers… The complete thrill of the experience—even if it was a bit sloppy and awkward and she still could not remember half of it.

The girl shook her head, deliberately changing her thoughts. That did not matter. What mattered was what he intended to do about it.

Already she could hear the voices of Harriet and Claudia and Jennifer all prophesying the dreaded 'just be friends' talk. Or even worse, a more uncomfortable version that ended with 'maybe we can't be friends because everything is too complicated now' and 'I like you but not like that.' And then Claudia would go on and on about how arranged marriages were the best thing in the world since she had never even seen her suitor and could only guess how wonderful he was from the birthday presents he sent. Then Harriet would tell her to be quiet since Philip made an amazing suitor and was adorable in every which way. And then Jennifer would try to referee the argument between the two girls and she, Annabelle, would be left forgotten in the background once again.

During the past few years, there had been something deeper than friendship lingering below the surface. That kiss was just pent-up emotion being released. But what was _he_ going to do about it? Would he storm her father's office like a hero of old, would he pretend it had never happened, would he talk to her about it first, would he declare it impossible, would he say he wanted nothing more in life, would he throw himself into the sea, would he shout to the heavens and pound his chest like some sort of wild man, would he—she had no idea. And she hated waiting for an answer. It was always waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and wait-.

"Ahem."

Suddenly Annabelle decided she could wait a little while longer. She hastily grabbed her notebook and brought it up to her face in an attempt to hide.

Stanley, passing the geometry textbook from hand to hand, smiled. "You left your math book in the library last night."

Annabelle did not respond, but he could see her forehead growing pink over the top of her notebook.

"I thought you'd might want it back before your test."

"Mmm?"

"You know-," he cocked his head, watching her, "-you'll probably pass. You studied hard."

"M-hmm."

"Annie."

She pretended not to hear him.

"Your notebook's upside down."

Annabelle slowly set her notebook aside, keeping her eyes averted and trying to ignore how flushed her face was. She raised her eyebrows, staring at her hands in her lap, and cleared her throat. "Well, thank you for bringing my book back, Stan. I—I really appreciate it."

He grinned, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Yeah… about-."

"I'm sorry!" Annabelle interrupted desperately.

He gazed at her for several seconds, uncertain how to reply. Then Stanley opened his mouth to speak.

"Annie, you don't-."

"I just—I know I shouldn't have—but I was just trying to—I didn't mean for it—I'm so, _so_ sorry!" She looked up at him, clutching anxiously at the fabric of her dress. "It's just that you were _right_ there! And you were being so nice like always and you smelled like book leather and glue and—and you and I—we've sort-of had a—something or… I don't know, but—but I really didn't know I was going to—I mean for goodness sake, Stan, it's been years—and I'm really sorry about… I'm just so sorry about everything."

A silence fell between them. A hesitant silence.

Stanley raised an eyebrow, "Are you done?"

She nodded, mumbling, "Yeah."

"Good." He took a seat next to her, acting rather business-like. "Okay, first of all, you don't have to apologize for the one thing that's made me happier than I've ever been in my entire life."

Annabelle's eyes widened, and she managed a soft "Oh?"

"Yep. And second-," Stanley laughed slightly, "-I've liked you for a long time. A really long time, Annie. And I've wanted to do something about it for a while now but I haven't—I've never managed to get up the nerve. I probably wouldn't have, either, if it wasn't for you."

She glanced at him, surprised.

The librarian's assistant plowed on, "Granted, the kiss was a little unexpected—different than your normal 'thank-you', but uh-," he half-grinned, "-I'm certainly not going to complain. But my only question is… do you want me to go talk to your dad?"

"What?"

Stanley shrugged, studying the floor as he muttered: "I know _I_ want to go talk to your dad. I mean, I want to ask him if I can court you but the only reason I would ask him is because you—you're okay with the idea. I need to know if you want to be um, 'more than friends'." He let out a disappointed gasp. "Ah! I didn't want to sound cliché but there you are. Just, Annie, do you want—would you mind very much if our relationship took a more romantic turn?"

She looked at him.

"Please don't make me ask again. I really, _really_ don't want to ask that again."

"Are you nervous?"

Stanley nodded, admitting, "A bit."

"You're never nervous about anything." The girl pointed out.

"Well, nothing mattered this much before."

He could not have said anything to make her happier.

"So…" He turned to her, "-can I go talk to your dad?"

Annabelle nodded, "Yeah. Yes, you—you should go talk to him."

Stanley gave a short jerk of his head, "Okay then."

"Okay."

"Right." He stood up, gesturing behind him with the textbook, "I'll just go and—and ask him if I can court you."

"Yeah."

"And then we'll-," Stanley suddenly realized he had a book in his hand. He quickly gave it to her, "Sorry. Forgot for a moment."

Annabelle shook her head, "No, it's fine. Thank you."

He grinned broadly and leaned forward, bestowing a swift kiss on her cheek. "Good luck with your exam, Annie. I'll see you afterwards."

A second later, and Stanley had disappeared down the hallway, his cheery whistles fading with the increasing distance.

Annabelle touched the place on her face where he had kissed her, smiling slightly.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Pascal, I don't think I can do this."

Eugene received a tiny, encouraging pat on the elbow along with a squeak of approval.

"Yeah, I know you like him. I know Rapunzel likes him. I know that _Annie_ likes him. But I-," he sighed, staring at the long report on his desk, "-I still don't—how do I go about this?" Eugene looked helplessly at his wife's chameleon, demanding, "How on earth do I say 'yes' without telling him 'yes'? I mean, I don't mind saying 'yes' so much as I mind what he'll take that 'yes' to be. Does that make any sense?"

Pascal shrugged, evidently confused.

Eugene let out a groan and dropped his face into his hands. "Ugh, being a father is so much work… and I think I'm getting a headache."

The little reptile 'squipped' and gave Eugene another pat on the arm.

"You're right. I _am_ overthinking things again."

Pascal nodded, replying with a low thrum.

The prince consort leaned back in his chair, absently extending his finger to stroke Pascal's back. The chameleon began to hum happily, and Eugene muttered, "I don't suppose threats are allowed, are they?"

Pascal squeaked in disagreement.

"Oh, so I can threaten? Just a little bit—make sure he understands what's in store if he hurts my daughter?"

The chameleon nodded.

Eugene smirked, declaring, "And of course Stan will tremble at the might of the terrifying Pascal."

Pascal straightened proudly, and then held up his chin so Eugene could reach the itchy spot.

"The thing is, Pascal-," he said, scratching the chameleon's head, "-I do like him. He's a-," he winced, "-he's a good guy. I'd almost forgive him if it wasn't Annie."

Pascal turned over onto his back, chirruping.

Eugene rolled his eyes, "No, I'm not going to rub your belly no matter how much you ask me."

The chameleon adopted an expression that can only be called a frown, and actually blew a raspberry.

"Now I'm definitely not going to do it." Eugene replied firmly, looking over to the closed doors of his office. He set his back teeth against each other, thinking. Any minute now, there was going to be a knock on his door, and he knew exactly who and what it was going to concern. Today, he was a father. And he had to make a very important decision. His daughter's happiness relied on him—not on whatever furious, papa-wolf creature prowled within the confines of his chest. So, swallowing his snarls, Eugene waited.

His wait was rewarded about a minute later when a steady rapt came at his door.

"Come in, Stan." Eugene called, sitting straighter in his chair and setting his hands, folded with thumbs upright, onto his desk.

The door was opened uncertainly, and Stanley entered the room, looking surprised. "I—I didn't know you were expecting me, sir."

"Well, I have been expecting you, and-," Eugene glanced at his pocket watch, "-you're a bit late."

Pascal gave Eugene a warning glare, but the prince consort ignored him and instead turned his attention to the young man shutting the office door.

"I'm sorry, your Highness." Stanley said, feeling that politeness was the safest route to go about things like this.

"No—don't worry about it." Eugene gave him an impassive, closed-lip smile, nodding to the chair before his desk. "Have a seat."

The librarian's assistant obeyed, nervously smoothing down his red hair.

Eugene asked, "You like snickerdoodles, Stan?"

"Um-," Stanley saw the platter of cookies on the desk. He shook his head, "No thank you, your High-."

"My daughter made them."

"Snickerdoodles, did you say?" Stanley asked, hastily snatching a cookie from the plate.

Eugene felt a stroke of satisfaction, and the wolf in his chest began to wag its tail.

Then the prince consort opened the drawer of his desk and withdrew a rather battered book. He held it out to Stanley, saying, "I believe this belongs to the palace library."

Stanley swallowed the snickerdoodle, wiped the crumbs off his shirt, and took the volume. He examined it for a second, and his eyes widened, "This is—this has been missing for about-."

"Five years—I know. I'm sorry." Eugene let out a short laugh, "Hopefully you're not going to fine me."

Stanley grinned slightly, "No sir."

The prince consort nodded, and then coughed, meditatively tapping his fingers on the report in front of him. He did not really know how to go about the whole 'courting my daughter' business. He could remember his wife's father practically plunging him into conversation, but he was not the king. He did not feel that he could get away with something like that. Especially since that ridiculous chameleon was on duty.

Almost absentmindedly, Eugene flicked his hand back and 'accidentally' knocked Pascal into the open desk drawer. Then he closed the drawer, leaned back in his seat, and watched as Stanley pretended not to hear the indignant squeaking and pounding coming from inside the desk.

The librarian's assistant set aside the returned book. He squared his shoulders and gazed straight into his superior's eyes.

"Your Highness, I have a request to make of you."

"Yeah, I know."

Stanley faltered somewhat, but his eyes remained trained on that of the prince consort's.

Eugene glanced to the side, muttering, "Listen, Stan, this conversation can be long and very, very awkward, or it can be short, to the point, and as painless as possible. Now as far as I know, you are not a man of many words; please do not try to change that today. So—ask your question, give me whatever kind of arguments you want, and I'll tell you what I think."

"Right. Um, yes-," he nodded, agreeing, "-yes sir."

"Good. Now—go ahead." Eugene waved his hand as if fending off an irritating fly.

Stanley blinked, announcing simply, "I would like to court your daughter, sir."

Eugene nodded. It was amazing how threatening a sentence could be said so quickly.

"I—I care for her. I like her a lot—I've liked her for a long time. And I-," Stanley shook his head, "-I don't really have anything else to say."

"Annabelle."

"Yes sir."

"Annie." Eugene crossed his arms and slumped, murmuring, "Annie—you want to court Annie."

Stanley waited, adjusting his posture uncomfortably.

A minute later, Eugene sat up in his chair again.

"Tell you what, since I love my daughter, I'm going to say yes. But you, Stan—_you_ listen very carefully to what I have to say next." Eugene pointed at him, his eyes narrowing. "I am promising you—should you hurt her in any way possible, physically, mentally, anything—_you_ will be hurt in every way possible. And that is not a figure of speech. I promise. I. Will. Hurt you." Then he sighed, admitting, "Though I might not be first in line 'cause Rapunzel does not wear shoes _and_ she can run fast." Eugene smiled, looking up, "Beware of frying pans. Trust me."

Stanley gave a doubtful nod, and ventured, "So—I can court Annie?"

"You can court Annie. Under the conditions that there will be no harm-," Eugene's voice took on an even deeper tone of warning, "-or _indecencies_ committed."

Stanley nodded, replying solemnly, "I understand, sir."

"You know my limits. Do not cross them."

"Yes, your Highness."

Eugene pursed his lips, "Okay then. I think we've come to an agreement."

"I hope so, sir."

"First of all—have you been tacking 'sir' or 'your Highness' on to practically everything you've said to me?"

"Yes s-." Stanley stopped, catching the smile crossing the prince consort's face. He shrugged sheepishly, replying, "I thought it was the best thing to do, given the circumstances."

Eugene's grin widened, and he rose to his feet, holding out his hand. "Congratulations, Stan. You've got yourself an absolutely wonderful girlfriend."

The librarian's assistant stood and took his hand, beaming, "I know, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And thank _you_ for coming." Eugene returned to his seat. "I really didn't want to go searching for you today."

Stanley looked back to the door, "Um-."

"She'll be out of her exam within the hour." The prince consort gave him a sideways glance from checking his pocket watch. "You should be waiting for her when she's finished. And then get her some ice cream—downtown. There's a nice shop down by the wharf."

Stanley frowned, "Well I have work I need to-."

Eugene shook his head, "Not today, you don't. Canceled it already."

"Sir?" His eyebrows shot up his forehead.

Eugene snorted, "Well don't look so surprised, Stan. For goodness sake, did you really think I'd make her wait? Go. Have fun." He pointed at him, adding seriously, "But not _too_ much fun."

Stanley's grin broadened, and he had made it halfway to the door before he rememebered to drop a bow.

Eugene smirked, waving him off. "Go, Stan."

The young man straightened. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Eugene tipped him a nod, and said, "Just be careful not to knock my wife over on your way out."

Stanley paused, and very slowly opened the door. He was greeted with the sight of the lost princess jumping back, smiling guiltily. Apparently, she had been listening at the keyhole.

Rapunzel feigned surprise, clutching at the key in her hand. "Stan? Wow—I had _no_ idea you were-," she looked him up and down, almost as if to ensure he still had all his limbs. "How are you?"

"I'm great, your Highness. Really great."

Rapunzel glanced into her husband's office, discovering that Eugene was staring up at the ceiling.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Stanley bowed and hurried off. He did not want to miss Annabelle.

Rapunzel walked into the room and closed the door, a wide smile crossing her face.

"Sooo… how'd it go?"

"Why are you asking me? You were eavesdropping."

"I only caught the last half." She said, disappointed.

"Then you know how it went." Eugene looked at her, pleading, "Now can you uncuff me?"

Rapunzel grinned, "I don't know. Having your ankles shackled to your chair might keep you at work longer."

Her husband groaned, shifting his legs and rustling the chains on them. "Yes, but I'm getting cramped up. Besides, I already said he could court Annie. _And_ I didn't kill him, either."

"I know—I'm so proud. Just-," Rapunzel knelt by his chair, inserting the key into the lock, "-hold still for a minute and I'll get you out."

"I could've picked them, you know."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well-," Eugene stretched out his freed left leg, grunting, "-I knew you wouldn't be happy. And I also thought it would be safer for Stan if I couldn't move too fast."

Rapunzel nodded, working on the right shackle, "And what about Pascal? Did he help any?"

Eugene's eyes widened, and he opened the drawer where he had stowed the chameleon. He reached in to grab the reptile, but Pascal had other ideas. Before Eugene had done so much as lean down, Pascal had gotten onto his hand, and was scurrying up and along his shoulders over to where Rapunzel was still sitting. Then he started to protest quite noisily from his perch on Eugene's elbow.

"Not now, Pascal I'm-," Rapunzel stopped, registering what those squeaks were saying.

Eugene ever so casually closed the incriminating desk drawer and wondered if he could possibly get away with pushing Pascal off onto the floor. He decided not to and instead waited for the click that would signify freedom for his other leg.

It did not come.

"_Eugene_."

The prince consort winced and turned to look at his wife, "Yes dear?"

Rapunzel now had Pascal on her shoulder, and both of them had arms crossed and bore disapproving frowns. "Why did you shove Pascal into your desk drawer?"

Her husband glanced from her to the chameleon and back again. Instead of answering he pointed out, "My ankle's still cuffed."

"And it's going to remain so until you tell me why you shoved Pascal into the drawer."

"Ah." Eugene cleared his throat apprehensively, "Well, Rapunzel, I was—I couldn't—look, I didn't want to have that little frog glaring at me while I was trying to talk to Stan, all right?"

"He's a chameleon."

"He's _annoying_!"

"Eugene-!"

"Okay-," he held up his hands defensively, "-okay, I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Honest. I'm sorry I put you in a drawer, Pascal, but it was going to be hard enough as it was without having you around."

Rapunzel tilted her head, asking, "It wasn't that hard, was it?"

"Well—no. Just—I don't know. I feel… sad, I guess." He shook his head, sighing.

"Do you really?"

"Eh, A little bit." Eugene shrugged, "But only a little bit."

Rapunzel interlaced her fingers with his, remarking quietly, "Annie will glow tonight. She'll be so happy."

"I know. That's why I said yes."

She squeezed his hand, "You're a very brave man, Eugene."

Eugene gazed at her for a moment, and then stuck out his chin with all the bravado he could muster. "I _am_, aren't I?"

His wife laughed and set about unlocking the other cuff, ignoring the grumbles from her chameleon.

* * *

The prince consort shuffled through the report in his hand, staring hard at the words in the light from the candles and fireplace of the sitting room. He picked up his cup of coffee from the side table, downed the last of it, and went back to work.

It was late in the evening, and he was still reading through the papers sent to him by one General Daire of the Lock. The Lock country lay just behind the Lockridge Mountains, and had always been on tense terms with Corona. Most of the conflict lay over how much power each nation exerted over the Midlands, which in itself, was a sovereign country ruled by the elite Bevin's Court with a weak 'king' at its head.

As of last year, the Midlands were experiencing raiders, instability in the government, and a rumor of reviving slave trade that had long since been outlawed from the western world. It was troubling, but it was normal. What was not normal, however, was what General Daire was proposing. An invasion—from the Lock—into the Midlands. Technically speaking, the Lock was not supposed to have any troops in the Midlands as it was a demilitarized zone to all but the Midlanders themselves. But the king of the Lock was young and ambitious, and his actions bespoke of only one thing.

He wanted war.

"Are you really _that_ stupid?" Eugene asked softly, scanning the general's words. "You attack the Midlands, the whole place will explode in your face. It's a powder-keg."

The prince consort thrust aside the report, glaring at the fire. If the Lock did something like that—it would only be a matter of time before Corona was pulled in. Kicking, screaming, it would not matter. They had far too many ties to the Midlands to allow an invasion of that magnitude to occur. Rapunzel needed to know about this, but more importantly, her father needed to know about it.

Eugene was just making up his mind to interrupt the king and queens' evening tea when his daughter strolled into the sitting room.

Annabelle was blissfully humming, and she floated over to where her father still sat on the sofa. Eugene felt a grin appearing on his face in spite of himself.

"How was ice cream?" He asked, even as she hugged him around his neck.

"Fantastic." Annabelle replied dreamily.

"I noticed you guys stayed out later than expected."

"You would." She kissed her father on the cheek, "Thanks, Dad. For everything."

"I love you, Annie."

She smiled and gave him another hug, glancing down at the paperwork on the sofa. "What are you working on?"

"Um—stuff." He pushed the report into the floor. "Nothing important. So—how was your day?"

Annabelle sat down next to her father and began telling him all about the wharf and the ice cream, and the amazing Stanley Isaacs, naturally. Eugene almost forgot about the problems lying on the carpet.

Almost.


	29. Heroic attire like the Greeks!

**Author Note**: Howdy, ya'll! :D this is just a really short story that popped into my head last night based off of real-life events. At any rate, it's not much, but hopefully will provide some entertainment to you's guys at least for a minute or two! Oh, and by the way, HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY TOMORROW! And a big thank you to all you guys who either are military or are part of military families! You guys give so much to the country with what you do, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart! Happy Sunday! God bless you all!

P.S. Just a bit of a warning 'cause I'm uncertain-this does get a bit, um, _naughty_ towards the end... but they're married so... :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

Eugene leaned back in the tub, letting out a deep sigh of contentment as the warm water soothed his muscles. The sounds of the night outside—crashing waves and chirruping crickets—wafted in on a gentle, ocean breeze. He had just finished a very, very long report to Councilor Charn, which served as the crowning monument to a full day of work, appointments with dukes, and a meeting with the royal advisers. His wife was still in the king's office reviewing the finer details, and Eugene had at least half an hour or more to relish the joys of a long, well-deserved, uninterrupted bath.

He was just beginning to doze when a sudden, piercing shriek rent through the peaceful night. "DADDY!"

Eugene jumped up immediately, splashing water onto the floor as he nearly fell out of the tub. He hastily grabbed a towel, pulled it about his waist, nearly lost it, and raced to the door.

"DADDY!"

He bolted through his bedroom and slid down the hallway, bursting into his four year-old daughter's room.

The prince consort landed on his knees, looking around, "Annie? Annie, where-?"

He saw Annabelle on her bed, curled up into a small, tight ball; big brown eyes fixed on him in complete horror.

Eugene glanced around, trying to find the source of her panic. But there was nothing but stuffed animals and a pile of library books and—what on earth had she been screaming for?

He came over, gently setting a hand on her head, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Annabelle gave an audible gulp and pointed behind him, whispering: "Th-there's a giant sp-spider!"

"What?"

"Over there. Daddy—it's over there!"

Eugene turned, certain he was going to come across the worst arachnid he had ever seen. Already his mind was conjuring up venomous fangs and about a thousand or so blinking eyes.

"Where? Annie—I don't see-."

"There!" She let out a squeak and dove for the covers.

Eugene squinted. There, on the wall in front of him, was a spider the size of a dot. It was literally a dot. A dot with teeny, weeny legs.

Eugene's eyes narrowed, and he reached out a thumb to smush the monster terrorizing his daughter. Then he turned back to the quivering lump beneath the blankets.

He grinned, "Got him, Annie. You're okay now."

Annabelle peeped out from below the covers, mumbling, "You sure?"

"Yes dear. He's gone."

"Oh thank you, Daddy!" She hugged him in relief, and then quickly scooted away, "Ew—wet."

He raised his eyebrows. "Yep. Anyhoo, Annie, you should be asleep right now." He picked up one of the books left on the bed, "Stop reading, and go to sleep. Then you won't have to worry about any stupid bugs."

"Promise?"

Her father nodded, "I promise."

"Okay." Satisfied that the threat was neutralized, Annabelle got under her blankets and waited for her father to blow out the candle.

Eugene carefully closed the door behind him, and turned to find that the queen was arriving back from a late night trip to the kitchens. She had a cup of tea in her hand, and a very puzzled expression on her face.

It was then that Eugene realized he was soaking wet and in a towel.

"Um, hello, dear."

Eugene cleared his throat, keeping a firm grip on his towel, "Evening, your Majesty."

The queen appraised him for a minute before asking, "I don't mean to be intrusive but why are you-?"

Eugene closed his eyes, muttering, "I don't really want to talk about it."

Behind him, the door opened and his daughter stuck her head out. "Thank you again for killing the spider, Daddy!"

"You're welcome, dear."

"Goodnight Grandma!" Annabelle said, waving at her grandmother.

The queen smiled, "Goodnight, Annabelle."

The door to the room closed, and, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, Eugene allowed himself to look up again.

"I certainly appreciate seeing a father who loves his daughter so much he'd risk life and limb to take care of her." The queen declared, more than a hint of laughter in her voice.

Eugene shrugged, "Well, you know—she called for help."

"Goodnight, Eugene dear." Clearly amused, the queen continued on her journey to her room.

Eugene returned to his own bedroom, only to find his wife had come in during his absence. Rapunzel glanced up from her desk as he entered, her eyes widening. "Eugene?"

"Hello."

"Why are you-?"

"Annie had a spider in her room. She wanted me to take care of it." He answered.

Rapunzel frowned, "I thought you were in the bath."

"I _was_ in the bath. But she called."

"You ran out there in a towel?"

"She's my little girl." He replied defensively. "And anyway, it wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for your mother."

His wife laughed, "Mom saw you?"

"We exchanged chitchat in the hallway. She said she appreciated the fact that her granddaughter had a dad like me."

Rapunzel grinned and stood up, going over to him. "Well, she's right, not many fathers would run out in a towel to kill a spider for their daughter."

Eugene rolled his eyes, "It wasn't a particulary big spider."

"All the same, I'm just wondering-," she made a grab for his towel, "-what would you run out in if _I_ called?"

Eugene dodged her, protesting, "Hey—no funny business!"

Rapunzel merely gave him a slow wink.

Her husband straightened, replying, "I'm not done with my bath yet."

"That's okay." Rapunzel said, waltzing over to the bed and sprawling out flirtatiously. "I'll be waiting for you when you're done."

Eugene opened his mouth, thought better of it, and retreated into the bathroom.

* * *

The next morning, at breakfast, Annabelle was enthusiastically telling her grandfather about the previous night's adventures.

"And then Daddy ran in and got the spider!"

Her grandfather raised his eyebrows, asking, "How big was it, Annie?"

"It was HUGE!" To demonstrate, the little girl held out her arms as far apart as she could. "Papa, it was really big." She added seriously.

The king glanced over at his son-in-law, and Eugene dryly showed him how big the spider actually was by spacing out his thumb and forefinger. The king chuckled.

Eugene looked over to where his wife and the queen conversed at the other end of the table. They were using hushed tones, and from the giggling he was fairly certain he knew just what they were talking about.

He cleared his throat, remarking, "You can stop snickering over your cereal. It's not really that funny."

"Oh, I don't know, Eugene." Rapunzel gave him a not-so innocent grin. "_I _think it's funny."

Her mother nodded in agreement, "Yes, Eugene dear, it is quite amusing."

Eugene groaned and rose to his feet, announcing, "I'm going to work."

Both ladies erupted into laughter.


	30. Apple tree prologue

**Author Note**: So, um, there is a reason this is called 'Prologue', because essentially, that's what it is. This is the prologue of 'Tom's Story', which hopefully I'll get to either before or a few weeks after next semester starts up again. Gotta say, I never thought I'd actually make it to writing this one, but since I have, there's really no going back. Hopefully you guys don't mind the wait... Anyhoo, there's a lot to explain after this one, and you'll probably be getting that explanation in the first chappie of 'Tom's Story', but I'm not planning to write that until after I've got another 'Royal Romance' chapter up, so good news for you romantical types out there! :D Oh, and a big THANK YOU to whoever it was that warned me about the slight bit of plagiarism. The person apologized and took the appropriate actions, so everything's good and dandy there. Oh, and thank you guys so much for waiting, reviewing, faving, and whatnot. I appreciate the encouragement-this is a lot of work and I DO wonder if I should just drop it all and return to working on my original stuff (I do miss it... perhaps a visit would do me well?). Anyway, later, taters! :D

_Soli Deo Gloria_

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story

* * *

It was somewhere between the end of summer and the start of fall. The air had gotten colder, the sea breeze blew sharper, and the green leaves were just beginning to turn. The earth took on a quieter, mysterious sense—one that spoke of oncoming change as winter began to stir sleepily in the far mountains.

However, within autumn's dawn, something far more sinister than winter was stirring.

And it would not be over by the time spring began.

* * *

The royal children of Corona walked through the stable orchards, glancing around at the many apple trees as the wind rattled the leaves and whistled past boughs. They made an interesting procession. Annabelle, whose left hand now bore a shiny engagement ring, was first in line. Ginger trotted after her older sister, a notebook under her arm and her mother's pet chameleon on her head. Thomas brought up the rear, leading his horse, Maximus II, along by the bridle. The horse kept pausing, his eyes sweeping up to stare longingly at the apples suspended above him.

"Come on, Max." The fourteen year-old grunted, tugging hard at the reins. "You can get some later."

Maximus II snorted, evidently disagreeing. He could get an apple or two right _now_ and be perfectly fine. Unfortunately, his master ignored his horsey grumbles, and Maximus II was forced to keep walking forward. The animal's hooves made soft noises upon the ground, and it was not until the group reached a clearing did they stop.

Annabelle, Ginger and Pascal took a seat beneath the branches of a particularly large apple tree, sprawling out comfortably and twining their bare toes in the soft grass. Thomas removed his horse's bridle, allowing Maximus II to trot around and select fallen apples at random as he nosed about the trees.

"So-," Thomas began conversationally, setting the bridle down onto the tree roots, "-what do you think they're talking about in that secret council meeting we're not supposed to know they're having?"

Annabelle picked up a fallen leaf, studying its edges. "You know exactly what they're talking about. Mom told us last night."

"Mom told _you_ last night." Thomas corrected, finding a foothold on the trunk and hoisting himself up into the tree.

"She would've told you too if you had been there."

"I was there-," her brother grunted, pulling himself over to straddle one of the larger limbs, "-I was just outside."

"You were hiding on the balcony." Ginger said, shuffling through her notebook as Pascal squeaked in affirmation.

"Yep." Thomas leaned his back carefully against another branch sprouting off from his limb. "And I barely heard a word—the ocean was too loud."

Annabelle sighed, "If you had gotten home at a reasonable hour instead of spending all evening riding your horse, you could have heard the whole thing."

"I hadn't ridden Max at all that day."

His older sister shook her head dismissively, "Tom, you know Mom had something to tell us after dinner. You just chose not to come."

Thomas groaned, "All right, Annie—I get it. I wasn't there when I should've been." He withdrew his slingshot from his pocket, muttering, "What else is new?"

Ginger glanced up at him, "Tom, can you get me an apple?"

"Sure, Gin'." Thomas grabbed an apple and tossed it down to her. Almost immediately, Maximus II wandered over and began nuzzling the girl's short-cropped hair, his breath warm against her head. Fearing for his survival, Pascal took a nosedive and landed safely in Ginger's lap. He scurried over to Annabelle for protection as the horse continued to bump Ginger affectionately.

"Max, stop." She giggled, holding up the fresh apple in defense. "Here—take it, take it."

The horse complied, letting out a grateful nicker before devouring the fruit happily.

"You're spoiling him." Thomas declared, not even looking down.

"You're spoiling him for riding all the time." Ginger retorted. "Annie's right, why didn't you come? Mom wasn't happy you weren't there."

"I was busy."

She snorted, "What? Riding? You couldn't have been riding _all_ that time."

Thomas rolled his eyes and turned to look at her. "If you must know, I was listening in on that conversation Dad was having with Papa and the other council members."

"So you do know what happened." Annabelle said, even as Pascal added an inquisitive murmur.

"Yeah—and way more than either one of you know, trust me." He gazed up at the leaves, inhaling the scent of the sea and a hundred ripening apples. Then he closed his eyes, stating, "There's a war going on in the Midlands. It started two weeks ago—but it's been going on a lot longer than that."

The ocean waves continued to crash upon the rocks and sea gulls still cried into the wind, but internally the world seemed to be reeling. The three had grown up during a relatively peaceful lull in Corona's history. No wars—no foreign problems—or at least, none that their parents had ever told them about. But now they were old enough to understand the implications of too much silence. Now they knew that countries were fracturing because dark words had been exchanged in secret and corruption lurked between government walls. Because selfish people did bad things and humanity revealed its sin.

The royal children knew all this, but they did not know what would happen now. And that uncertainty was what scared them the most.

"It—it's just so strange—waking up to find that there's a war in the world." Ginger said quietly, staring at the ground in front of her.

"Mom and Dad will know what to do, though." Annabelle replied quickly, reaching out to take her sister's hand. "It's okay, Ginger. Bad things happen but life still goes on."

Ginger looked down, seeing the new ring on her sister's finger. She smiled softly, "You're right. Life goes on."

"Not for the Midlanders, it doesn't." Thomas cut in, leaning down to see them. "They're in the middle of a civil war now. It'll be a few months before we get pulled in, you'll see."

Annabelle tilted her head back in exasperation, "Tom, you don't know if that's true or not. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I told you—I listened."

"Yeah, from outside at a keyhole." She replied sarcastically.

"And I've read some of those papers on Dad's desk."

"Which you weren't supposed to read." Ginger said, glancing at Annabelle.

Thomas narrowed his eyes, protesting, "Why not? They don't tell us anything and I think I have a right to know." He kicked at the trunk with his booted foot, adding, "After all, I'm probably going to have to deal with the stupid mess."

Annabelle groaned, "Oh, I should've known you'd bring _that_ up."

"I'm crown prince! You think I don't know what that means? This war will go on for years—I'll get the throne—and then I'll have to put the Midlands back together again! It'll be my job, _my_ responsibility. It's not even our country and it's still my job!"

His older sister shook her head, "Considering that Mom's queen right now and you're just a whiny teenager, I highly doubt you'll have much of a problem. They're not going to put the crown on your head tomorrow and trust you with saving the world, Tom."

"And if they did, I'd pack my bags and move to Orae." Ginger vowed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gin'."

She looked up at him, "Seriously, Tom? Do you really think you'll have to deal with the Midlands?"

He shrugged, mumbling, "I could. I probably will."

Ginger nodded, raising her eyebrows as she suggested, "Well then you might want to get used to talking to girls before you try doing anything about the fate of the country."

"Wha—what does that have to do with anything?" Thomas stammered, his ears already turning red.

"Did you see him at the last party, Annie?" Ginger asked, leaning forward conversationally. "I know you and Stan were busy, but you must have noticed _that_ crowning moment of awkwardness."

Annabelle smiled, "We weren't busy."

Ginger waved her hand, "Of course you were—you had to show off your rock and your man—you were busy."

"Gin'—not another word." Thomas said warningly, drawing back his slingshot and aiming it at his sister.

"If you even think about shooting me I'll climb up there and throw you out of the tree." Ginger said without so much of a glance in his direction. "At any rate, Tom was talking to the duke of Florence's daughter, Ophelia, and he told her what a pretty dress she was wearing."

"I was just being polite!" Thomas claimed.

"Well, I said 'told'. Really it was more of an annoying gurgling noise he made—in between gulps of desperation."

"Ginger, be nice." Annabelle said, trying to hide her grin.

Ginger frowned, "I think his voice cracked, at one point. Ophelia practically jumped out of her skin from fright. Then she went to dance with—who was it Tom? Oh yeah, with Martin of Chantill."

"Rotten, good-for-nothing, idiotic-," Thomas ended his description with a word a crown prince should probably not have in his vocabulary.

"Tom, don't you dare say that again!" Annabelle ordered angrily, glaring up at him.

"Well that's what he is!" Her brother snapped, folding his arms in defiance.

"Poor Ophelia. She doesn't know Martin's that kind of guy. Maybe you should warn her, Tom." Ginger smirked. "That is—if you can say two words without your ears turning red."

Instinctively, Thomas covered his ears, "They're not red."

"And my eyes aren't green."

"Tom, Ginger, stop it." Annabelle said firmly, her voice taking on a stern tone they both recognized as one their mother had exercised on occasion.

"Sorry, Annie." Ginger responded.

Thomas did not say anything, and instead reached into his pocket, pulling out stones to shoot through gaps in the leaves.

Annabelle rested her head against the tree trunk, stroking Pascal thoughtfully. She knew that there had always been trouble in the Midlands. Stanley had explained some of what he had gathered from sitting in on meetings to take notes for the councilmen and her parents. She had already known about the war before her mother had said anything. But she did not know why it had started—nor what stance the kingdom would take.

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did the war start?"

Thomas let out a wry laugh, "You're kidding, right? That'd take forever to explain."

"How come?"

"The war started centuries ago, Annie. There's a lot of politics in there."

She made a face, "I don't want the history—I want to know why it's happening right now. And what we're going to do about it."

Thomas took a deep breath, "Short version of the story is—the Lock country decided to invade."

"They did what?"

He grinned sardonically, "Yeah—invade—stupid, isn't it? They had already planted spies in the Court, so overthrowing King Garrick was easy. Meanwhile, the Court is trying to remain in control while the people who liked having a monarchy are inciting rebellion. So that's where the 'civil war' comes from—some people want a king and some don't."

"Okay, but what do _we_ want?" Annabelle asked.

"We want the Lock to get its grubby hands out of the Midlands and let the country figure itself out, but that's not going to happen. The Lock's in too deep, and if we don't do anything, they'll take over the Midlands and we'll have the Lock country perched on our doorstep."

"They don't like us." Ginger said solemnly.

Thomas shrugged, "We don't like them—it's a mutual thing."

She frowned, "Aren't the Midlanders sort of Coronan?"

"Sort of. Which is part of the reason we're going to get involved in the war, which I'll end up having to fix when I'm king."

Annabelle rubbed her eyes wearily, "I'm sure it'll be over by then."

"But what if it _isn't_, Annie?" Her brother demanded, gesturing with his slingshot. "That's what you or Ginger or Mom or Dad never think about! What if the war isn't over, and I have to deal with it? I don't know what I'm doing! The country's going to fall to pieces and it'll be my fault!"

"You know, I'd say he was a girl from all the dramatics he's putting into this." Ginger commented, giving her sister a sidelong glance.

"I don't even _want_ to be king! Why do I even have to do this?"

Annabelle sighed, "Tom, calm down. You don't have to worry about that right now, okay? Mom and Dad will handle it."

Thomas shook his head, muttering, "I'm not a kid anymore, Annie. I know when things are beyond our parents' control. Just like when I know that some story about a tower and magic hair isn't actually real."

Ginger's eyes widened, "You don't think the story's true, Tom?"

He rolled his eyes, "Gin', of course it's not true. It's just something Dad made up to keep us entertained. Mom didn't actually have blonde hair seventy feet long, and she certainly didn't sing our father back to life. The real world doesn't work that way."

"Well maybe not _everything_ happened like Dad said but I'm sure he didn't outright lie to us." Annabelle said confidently.

"Shows what you know."

Annabelle set her teeth in annoyance, but refrained from retorting. Her sister, however, did not.

"I don't care what you say, Tom." Ginger said, her face cross. "I believed it happened and you're just too stubborn and moody to admit the truth."

"You also believe in unicorns, Gin'."

"Uncle Vlad said the story's real."

"Uncle Vlad believes in unicorns too!"

Ginger began to stand up, evidently determined to knock her brother out of the tree.

"Ginger." Annabelle took her hand, preventing her from rising. "Leave him alone. He's just going to be angry."

"You know-," Thomas plowed on, not realizing what was going on below him, "-I really don't understand why you guys think it happened just because Dad said it did. Dad doesn't mean everything he says."

Annabelle frowned, "Tom, that's not true."

"Yeah, Annie, it is. Whenever Dad tells me he understands what I'm going through, I know he doesn't. He doesn't listen when I tell him I don't want to be king. No one does. No one listens to me when I say I don't want to be crown prince anymore. No one ever asked me what I wanted."

"And what do you want, Tom?" Ginger asked dangerously. "Please tell me it's a sock in the mouth because I can-."

"Ginger, remember what Grandma said." Annabelle reminded.

Ginger scowled, reciting through gritted teeth: "'It's not lady-like to punch'."

"No it's not. Now, Tom?" Annabelle gazed up into the tree above to where her brother was still ranting.

"I want to see the world! I don't want to spend the rest of my life cooped up behind a desk in some cramped room, trying to solve everyone else's problems. I'm trapped here and I-," he sighed, kicking at the tree, "-I hate it."

Annabelle cleared her throat, "Thomas."

"What?"

"Stop complaining for a second and listen to me, please?"

He bit back a smart remark and instead settled with, "Fine."

"You're going to University this fall, right? First semester there?"

"Yeah. So what?"

Annabelle smiled, replying soothingly, "So you shouldn't freak out so much. You've got your whole life ahead of you. The war is on Mom and Dad's agenda, not yours. And you're attending University in a few weeks so focus on _that_ instead of what's going on a hundred miles beyond our borders. Okay?"

He narrowed his eyes and huffed.

"_Tom_."

"All right! I see your point." Thomas said, plucking sulkily at the band of his slingshot.

"Good." Annabelle turned to her sister and frowned. "Ginger, what are you doing?"

Ginger continued to scribble in her notebook, answering, "Nothing much. Annie, when are you and Stan going to get married?"

"When the cows come home." Thomas said.

Annabelle ignored him and shook her head, "Ginger, Stan and I will get married when he gets the Head Librarian's job."

Ginger pursed her lips, "Hasn't that old coot kicked the bucket yet?"

Her sister gasped, "Ginger!"

"What? I'm serious, he was old when Papa was a teenager."

Annabelle drew herself up regally, "Mr. Mermidon is very sick and Stan doesn't want to take his position when the poor man can barely get out of bed."

Thomas nodded, "Ah. So you're doing the nice thing and waiting for him to die."

"_Tom_! How could you say such-?"

"Are you guys going to have any kids?" Ginger asked, interrupting her sister's rebuke.

Annabelle raised her eyebrow, "Wha-?"

"You and Stan. Kids?"

Annabelle's face started to get hot, "Well, I—I—we-."

Thomas smirked slightly and asked, "Is she blushing?"

"Yep. Like a rose in June."

Annabelle closed her eyes, trying to ignore her siblings' sniggers. She said quietly, "We might, I don't know. We're not married so we haven't talked about it yet."

Ginger beamed, "If you have a daughter, Annie, let me tell you that Ginger is an _incredibly_ beautiful name."

Thomas snorted in disbelief.

"And I can't wait to be your Maid of Honor."

"Oh, I was thinking I might let Harriet have that job." Annabelle said off-handedly.

"Annie!" Ginger sounded wounded.

Her sister laughed, "I'm just kidding, Ginger."

Ginger sighed, relieved, "Thank goodness for that. I've already drawn up plans for my dress. Want to see?"

Annabelle smiled, "Okay then."

"See, I was thinking about lace, but now I'm not so fond of it. And I know you wanted pearls, but I was thinking…"

Thomas moaned loudly, "Oh great. Now all you guys are going to talk about are weddings and babies and lace. I'm out of here."

"Make sure you get home in time for dinner." Annabelle said, examining the sketch her sister was showing her.

"Gotcha." He dropped down to the ground and picked up the bridle. "Come over here, Max. Time to ride."

Maximus II, who had just eaten a number of apples and was now contemplating a nap, shook his head resolutely.

"Max, come here."

The horse once again shook his head, stepping away from his master.

Thomas shrugged casually, "All right, then. Guess we won't see if you can best Boulder in how long it takes you to get to the edge of the island."

Maximus II cocked his head, brown eyes calculating. Eventually he trotted over and proudly presented his face for bridling.

Thomas feigned surprise. "Oh, so you do want to go? Not too tired?"

The horse neighed resentfully.

The boy grinned, "Right. Okay, let's go."

A few minutes after the two had departed, Ginger glanced at her sister.

"Annie?"

She nodded, "Yeah?"

"Do you think Tom's all right? I mean—about the war and everything?"

Annabelle turned to look off in the direction her brother had gone. She sighed, "Well—no. He's scared, just like the rest of us. And he's not sure this is what he wants to be doing for the rest of his life."

"What do you think's going to happen?" Ginger asked hesitantly.

"I think-," she turned back to her sister, "-that Mom and Dad have it taken care of, and that everything will work out in the end. No matter what."

* * *

Past the stable orchards, out upon the hills behind the walls of the palace and city, a horse and his rider are galloping to the sea.

They ascend a slight rise in the landscape, hooves cutting into the earth and sending specks of dirt into the salty air. The horse's sides are heaving, but his pace is quick, his run sure. The boy upon his back encourages the animal to go faster with a single tap of his foot or the lightest touch on the reins. And then they are reaching the cliff, and their run slows until the horse is walking restlessly at the very edge.

* * *

Thomas leaned back in the saddle, panting as he turned his face to the orange sky. He had been riding for hours, and he knew he had already missed dinner. There really was no point in returning now. His father would be annoyed, his mother would be concerned, and his sisters would be sarcastic. It was easier to just stay out here.

He watched a flock of birds—sparrows, not ocean birds—wing its way across the clouds and towards the setting sun. The dying rays had inflamed the river below, shining a path of light away from the sea until the waters disappeared into the forest.

The crown prince looked over the dark trees, spying the pasturelands stretching beyond them. And even further than that, there were villages and towns of the kingdom, miles of country that reached on to the rocky downs separating Corona from the Midlands. Land he had never seen, places he had only heard about, people who had stories to tell and lives to live.

Maximus II neighed impatiently, staring out at the world.

"Yeah, Max. I know what you mean." Thomas sighed, turning away to look at the palace. "But not today."

Then he pulled on the reins, and the horse and rider began their journey home.


End file.
